The First Death
by Evil Asian Genius
Summary: Muraki's death at Hisoka's hands opens an unforseen path for both. Post Kyoto: mixed anime and manga continuities. Tsuzuki x Hisoka, Terazuma x Wakaba, implied Muraki x Oriya, etc. COMPLETE
1. The First Death

The First Death

            Ne, would you like to hear a secret?

            There now, I've your attention.  I suppose you never really thought to wonder how it is that I came to know about you, the Shinigami.  Or that time after time, I see them when most people can't.  Or shouldn't.

            Well, it's not a terrible secret, nor did it involve dark arcane rites or technology beyond current comprehension embedded in this right eye of mine.  Surprised, I see.  I suppose you assumed the usual.

            It's a much rather uninteresting explanation, rather mundane, if you will.  The answer is within here.

            You don't understand why I tap my head.  No, it's not intellect.  No amount of mental acrobatics would have made me see beings that for all rights should be invisible to a mortal – not even a passing fancy in the arcane arts could have netted me such information.

            So what then?  Enough with the obtuse descriptors and evasion?  I suppose I'm wasting your time.  You did want to continue on with your mission, did you not?

            Well, you see...I'm dying.

            Don't be surprised that I can say that with a smile.  I've known this for a long time.  You see, it's inoperable, the tumor.  It's been growing since I was a young man.  Millimeter by millimeter, second by second, my life slips away.  Eventually, it will kill me.  It almost did once already.  We're old friends, the cancer and I... 

            But you look surprised.  Don't be.  Look closely at the records.  Not in this country, no.  Check with the Americans.  They have a record of me.  About ten years ago, I almost died in New York.

            You see, I was sick.  Terribly, grotesquely ill.  The chemotherapy didn't work – the tumor's growth had become unmanageable. The flight alone almost killed me, but I made it.  I can be stubborn like that.

            Why New York?  Why not?  I had always wanted to see it, and certainly I was going to do so before I died.  Or went blind.

            By then, you see, the tumor had destroyed one of my eyes.  Nothing particularly dramatic – it had slowly pinched off the main blood artery until the organ died.  Let me tell you how much of an oddity it is to have one eye slowly, slowly black out over the course of a few hours.  Frightening.  Like that, it was gone.  

            Ultimately, it came down to surgery and the fitting of a prosthetic.  Of course, the mechanical eye came later, but that in of itself is another story.

            But I digress.

            I had stopped taking the drugs.  They did nothing for me.  Even the painkillers.  At least the pain was something that was tangible, that reminded me that I was still tethered to this earth.  Something strange about being terminally ill was that though there was no chance for survival, particularly since I had quit the chemotherapy, I still managed to cling onto the hope of survival.  Details, details.  I'm sure this is all very dull.

            I wasn't alone.  That was necessary, of course, because I was ill.  Oriya came too.  I would never have wanted anyone else.  Have you ever seen him in a suit?  I suppose not.  He dresses as he pleases in Kyoto.  But when he does leave town, he'll wear a suit.  He does cut a striking figure.  

            In case...in case I were to die, he said, with that particular seriousness that let me know he meant every word, he was going to be there.  Of course, he would never tell me why.

            An odd memory.  At the time, I remembered how much I had missed my hair, and how happy I was that it was growing back, even though it was no more than a silvery fuzz.  All I wanted at the time was it to grow long enough so that I didn't have to show that odd eye of mine.  Pure vanity.  They don't make prosthetics in this strange gray of my real eyes.  The best that could be done was a light blue.  Still true to this day.  Funny, isn't it?

            New York was brilliant.  It was winter. Snowflakes drifted along the night sky, shimmered along the city lights, and disappeared before they touched ground.  Lovely.  The city was incredible, truly a rival worthy of Tokyo.  

            I remember Oriya surprising me, once or twice.  Still, the blindness of my right side had not registered properly.  Later, he always approached on my left.  It was certainly a kindness only he would have the care to note.  And the discipline to remember.

            I could not have remembered a better time in the last three years since the tumor's growth began to accelerate.  We went to the best restaurants, had the best wine, saw the best shows...it was like a dying man's last wish come to pass.

            Well, yes.  That's true.  It was a dying man's wish.

            Yes, yes.  I'll get to the point.  

            I was ill, of course.  Too tired to do much.  But that particular day, it felt as though I just couldn't continue.  So we stayed in the hotel.  Oriya was in the next room over.  Even though he may be the only one I allowed to see me in such a state, I still preferred it that he was to have his own room.  He shouldn't suffer for me, that one.  It's too heavy a burden.  Even for him.

            I had told him to go to the show without me.  Of course, he wouldn't.  His character refuses the notion of abandonment.

            Night fell.  Strange, I had felt.  My body felt particularly lethargic, the pain seemed as though it were a faint buzzing, a far-away sensation that perhaps belonged to someone else.  It crossed my mind that perhaps now would have been a good time to pick up the phone and call Oriya, to tell him...tell him what?  It didn't seem to matter much.

            My heart felt sluggish, as though it didn't feel as if it were up to the task at hand.  Terrible feeling, really.  It's hard to explain the sensation of your organs slowly failing.  

            Though I suppose you might know it personally.  

            He came in without knocking.  In fact, I don't even think the door opened.  Certainly, I don't remember hearing the door.  One minute, I was alone, the next, I had company.  In Japan, our Shinigami are far more polite, as a rule.  In America, they're rather boorish and persistent.  I suppose it's a cultural difference.

            He was fairly young.  Not that it meant anything, really, as gauging his existence's length would have been impossible.  But I was lucky that he was still fairly new at this.  Otherwise, it would probably never have worked out the way it did.  Funny thing, fate.  Had he had a snippet more experience, a touch more knowledge, I would have slipped into the afterlife with nary a whimper, and left poor Oriya with the unpleasant task of disposal.

            Of course, that would have meant that you never would have died.

            No, I'm not saying that to be cruel.  It's just an observation.

            Ne, do you know what he did?  He just looked at me curiously as if gauging my situation, and explained who he was, and why he was there.  Polite, really.  Almost clinical.  I suppose I had expected something more.  Perhaps some speeches on my past as a doctor, on the irony of a condition that no amount of medical science could cure.  Perhaps a little hellfire and brimstone, to highlight the times when I failed not only a patient, but myself.  The times I failed my family.

             Like I said, he was young.  And I suppose it would have worked better if he had given me something other than a little description into the workings of the afterlife's bureaucracy.  The banality of it infuriated me.

            After all, this was my life.  Damned if I was going to easily give it up as though it were a keepsake that I had meant to hang onto but wouldn't mind handing over to the nicest stranger.

            I suppose something to do with the anger and the frustration that had built up over the past several years finally snapped at that point.

            Now, do you know the difference between physical and spiritual strength?  You see, as long as the soul is born with particular spiritual abilities, no matter how weakened the physical strength is, as long as there's the right amount of this, and a particular amount of that, spiritual power can easily be massively strong, even when the physical shell is damaged or weakened.

            I can see that you don't quite believe me.  It's a particular ability.  Manifestation is rather uncommon.

            I hadn't meant for it.  In fact, at the time, I could barely move.  But something inside of me snapped, and opened the gates of hell on this poor young man.  But at the last minute, someone stepped in and pushed him out of the way.  They caught the full brunt of it, however.  It wasn't a pretty sight.  

            It's a lucky thing that Shinigami can't be seen or heard by mortals.

            I suppose it had never occurred to the New York division that I would have had spiritual powers.  Of course, at the time, it had never occurred to me that I had spiritual powers.  Strange, how things work out.

            I left this poor young man's partner an ugly smear on the carpet.  I really didn't mean for it to happen.  I was incredibly surprised myself.  I suppose my urge to survive was particularly strong – I had never really expected to kill an agent of death myself.

            Don't look so worried.  I've never been able to replicate that since.  It was purely an aberration.  Not that I haven't tried.

            Poor Shinigami.  I don't remember his name, but I do remember how clear his eyes were, a perfect cobalt blue.  Like I had said, he was fairly new to the game.  And I had somehow managed to erase his sempai's existence, sentencing him to the true death.

            After that, I felt better.  Oddly.  I sat up from my prone position on the bed, and watched him as while he had a rather messy and emotional breakdown.  The trouble with Shinigami, you know, is that when they're young in their immortal existence, they're extremely vulnerable.  Powerful, regenerative, and with abilities beyond mortal comprehension.  Yet like a porcelain doll that's been repaired, they endure with an eternal, ageless beauty, but carry with them fatal cracks that will never heal properly.  The first death never leaves them unscathed.  The final death only closes the circle.

            The older ones aren't much stronger.  They're just better at hiding.

            My poor young man.  He cried first out of grief, and then out of fear.  I suppose being pinioned will do that.  Not that I was strong enough to really restrain him.  His fear of me and what I had just done overrode any common sense.  Had he wanted to, he could have tossed me off without the slightest hesitation or thought.

            I suppose that may seem familiar to you.  The lack of struggle, that is.  I'm not that powerful, you know.

            Tell me everything, I told him.  Lest you wish to seek the true death.

            And he did.

            You know, in Japan, they forbid their Shinigami the dark arts.  America, on the other hand, is a free country.  

            It was nearly dawn before it was done.  By then, I had learnt enough to last me a lifetime.  In fact, you could say that I had learnt enough to give me a lifetime.  And perhaps more.

            If nothing, I am a quick study.

            It was from him, that I first tasted another's lifeforce.  Of course, nothing could kill him.  The most it did was make him a bit groggy.  But it was like a full night's rest and then some, tapping at his life's flame.

            I had never felt better in my life.

            So I let him go.  I don't know what happened to him after that.  I suppose he was sent along anyway, into the true death.  Failure is seldom tolerated, particularly that which brings about mortals closer to the truth, closer to the seat of power at the center of the world.

            By the time Oriya came around to wake me for breakfast, it was as though I had been given my life back.  Oh, I had the most wonderful dream, I told him.  I would be getting better soon.  A little mad laugh escaped my lips, and I think at that moment he was seriously afraid for me, thinking that perhaps the tumor had pressed into some center of cognition, shorted out that important bit of wiring that keeps people sane.  Perhaps it did.  I can't say for certain.  It's regressed now to the point that it's barely a cluster of cells the size of the tip of my little finger.

            Obviously, I got better.  Of course, now Oriya knows why.  Clipping the buds to keep the roses in bloom.  I can't say it's right, but it is what I am.  You see, I don't want to die.

            As for you...

            I know you've wanted this all your life, more than anything.  Afterlife, I should say.  All your afterlife.  The gun in your hand speaks more to me than any pretty speeches or declarations ever could.  After all, I'm merely mortal.

            But you shouldn't.  The two of us, we're too close.  My mind would drag yours with me into death.  It would be an ugly thing.  You would never recover from it.  

            Once, I saw it happen.  I'm not an empath, but I can recognize a shattered mind when I see it.  It was as if his mind had burned out, leaving just a husk of body behind.  Chaff in the wind.

            Ne, Hisoka.  Empaths shouldn't kill, you know.

Disclaimer:  Yami no Matsuei belongs to Matsushita Yoko.

Author's notes:  Many thanks to my prereaders: Cyrus, Fraser, Geoduck, and DWE.  This fic is pretty much an exercise in seeing if I could write Muraki in character.  Based on the manga idea (volume 1) that only people who are about to die should be able to see the Shinigami.  Minor formatting errors are due to fanfiction.net's server.  It looks fine on my machine.  (edit: reformatted version uploaded 2.26.03)

You can find me at #squidkitty at irc.starwars-irc.net.

C&C may be sent to cori_ohki@hotmail.com.  Thanks for reading.  ^_^


	2. The Second Death

The Second Death

            _I don't want to be tested anymore._

            The gun nearly slips out of my grasp when he tells me of our connection.  It's only a second of hesitation, but I recover, gripping it tighter.  Feeling the weight of the gun in my hands strengthens me.  If only it could do the same for my resolve.

            _I don't want to be tested._

            At my feet, the lines of the two spells glow crimson and violet, swirling around the edge of my perception like dry autumn leaves in the wind.  Where they meet, they lock along a thousand different points.  Muraki's visible eye is unreadable.  It's a bad, bad sign.  It's really weird not seeing the brittle amusement that usually hides the darkness that lurks behind the man's eyes.  If he's not amused, at least he should be angry, at being caught in this trap.  But there's nothing; he's unfathomable.  

            And I'm not going to reach out with my senses to make sure.

            _I don't want to be…_

            Why the admissions?  Why the candor?  Was it just to unbalance me, or was there some deeper purpose?  Was it a confession?  But why seek absolution…from me…?

            _I don't…_

            There's no way out of this mess.  The unbreakable walls of the conflicting spells that bind us together are making certain that neither of us can escape, so I knew only one of us can leave here alive.  Even without the spells, the fact remains that if I spare him, he's bound to kill more people in the future.  Or worse.  No, don't think about worse. Just…

            _I don't want this._

            Just aim.  Point the muzzle of the gun, search toward his heart.  There.

            _I just want to go home._

            The trigger.  Pull it.  Do it for yourself.  For Tsuzuki.  For everyone he's hurt.  Just…

            _I just want…_

            Such a terrible thing, murder.  

            I told you.

            The lines of the curse marked the beginning and the ending of the world.

*******

            Lately, I've been wondering about Oriya.  It's a terrible cliché, but the man looks to require a hug.  

            Not from me, mind you.  He would hardly stand for that.  Impropriety, you know.

            But a hug.  It seems that he could really use one. 

            From a distance, the careless fall of dark hair against pale skin, his expression unguarded – a moment's peace.  Yet I can tell there's something a bit off in his stance, the way his hands unconsciously trail through the chill air, as if grasping for some intangible thing, his lips poised on the brink of speech.  The movement breaks his usual stillness, as a falling leaf disturbs water.

            He sighs, his eyes close.  It's a wisp of fog in the winter air, his breath.

            This, you know, was never the way anyone planned it to be.  No one could have expected it; their first vacation in twenty years, a plane crash, no survivors…his parents gone in the blink of an eye.  And the new master of Kokakurou, freshly dragged from university into his new role as the head of the family that now encompassed one solitary member.

            I suppose that's what drew us closer, even though we had already been friends.

            I had offered; he hadn't refused.  He never would have asked, but it seemed right at the time, to accompany him to the funerals, following like a silent white shadow through the Buddhist rites.  It's surprisingly suitable, you know.  White, after all, is the color of death.

            As winter is the season of death.

            There were no bodies to be recovered.  Nothing but scraps of twisted black metal, burned into the mountainside, total immolation.  Nothing remaining but keepsakes to fill the empty coffins.  Empty coffins to fill open graves.  Open graves like dark wounds against the snow-dusted ground.  

            And now, snow blossoms through the air, tangling among the fine strands of his long hair that are being pulled and twisted by a wind that picks up steadily, the onset of a storm.  

            His eyes don't open.  It grows colder, but he doesn't move, a blot of darkness against the veil of falling snow.  His face is expressionless.  No sadness.  No grief.  Just…nothing.

            "Oriya," I say.  "Oriya, please.  You should come inside."

            His eyes open at the sound of my voice, and he stares at the blackness, at the black haori and hakama, the clothes of mourning, the loose sleeves sliding against his pale skin.  It's a stark contrast.

            "Please."  I make my way along the stone path of the garden.  The pond is frozen solid, the bamboo fount suspended in a singular moment that lasts until spring.  The sky is an iron gray that grows darker by the moment, mid-day turned twilight.  "Come inside.  It's starting to snow again.  You'll catch cold."  And I reach out to him, solicitously guiding him inside.

            Numbly, he follows me in.  There's nothing more to say.

            We sit with the sliding door open, watching the snowflakes fill the air.  He sits with his back to the doorframe, the black silk of his mourning garments pooling around him like a second shadow.  I am across from him, facing the falling snow.

            "Do.  Do you think.  That they suffered."  His words come haltingly, voice strained.

            "No.  I don't think that's the case, Oriya."  I pause.  He says nothing.  "You were always better at physics.  It would have been instantaneous."

            "Yes."  His hand tightly grips the frame, dark wood beneath white-knuckled fingers.  "You're right."

            "There was nothing anyone could have done."

            "I know."  His eyes never leave the falling snow.  Mine do not leave him.

            "Shall I make you some tea?"  I offer.

            "Thank you."  He doesn't refuse.

*******

            When I woke up, it felt like half the department was in the infirmary.  Concern radiated all around me, filling the room with warmth.  And of course, Tsuzuki was there.  He was still holding my hand.  It made me smile.  

            He handed me a glass of water, which I drank gratefully.  Watari checked my vitals, and declared that I was fit for service.  At that, Tatsumi looked like he was ready to give me the lecture of a lifetime.  Thankfully Watari dragged him off before he could start.

            The fact that I could get up and answer in a fairly coherent manner meant that it was a lie.  My head felt fuzzy, my entire body ached to the bone, and even after a full glass of water I felt ridiculously dehydrated.  But I was as alive as could be and as sane as ever.

            Hey, but who's to complain?  I should have guessed.  Not like Muraki was worth much along the lines of truth.  Maybe he was right, maybe it could have made me into some sort of gibbering vegetable, but it didn't and really, who cared?  Especially now that he was dead.

            Dead.  It had such a nice ring to it.  Muraki, dead.  Dead, Muraki.

            I practiced saying it aloud a few times to myself in the infirmary mirror just to make sure.

            Then again, I probably shouldn't go too far ahead of myself.  The man cheated death as often and as easily as a card counter at the blackjack table.  

            Oh, but the curse marks.  Always the marks.  Better check.

I rolled up my sleeves.  Long shirts, always, to cover the trailing red lines.  Or a jacket.  But now…now…

            Nothing.  They were gone.  I blinked.

            Heedless of Tsuzuki's presence (fortunately the rest had wandered off to work once they were sure of my recovery), I started pulling my clothes off.  I could feel the hotness of his embarrassment against my back, but I ignored it.  After all, it wasn't as though I was going to take my pants off too.  The marks were mainly on my torso.

            There.  In the mirror.  No more lines.  I turned around, to see my back.  No more marks.  Just skin.  A little pale.  A little bony here and there (I would always be thin, there was nothing more I could do about it, being dead).   But here it was.

            Wow.  

            My knees went wobbly and weird, and I almost hit the ground, had not Tsuzuki caught me.  He can move faster than anyone I know.  His arms caught me, and turned me toward him, his violet gaze catching mine, as if trying to discern what had happened.

            "Are you all right?"  He said it, over and over again.  The words floated around aimlessly through the air, little feathers of worry.  Even though I knew they were directed at me, they just didn't seem to be real.

            Of course, I was all right, baka.  I laughed.  At first just a little.  Then it became a chuckle that wouldn't stop.     And then I cried.  It was too much.  Tsuzuki pulled me into an embrace, as if he could stem the flow of my emotions with the strength of his arms.  The buttons of his shirt scraped against my bare skin.  

            I buried my face against his shoulder.  He smelled a little bit like tea and muffins and whatever made him Tsuzuki.  The warmth of his concern washed over me, and after a while, standing there in his arms, I couldn't tell where his feelings began and mine started.  But that was fine.  Because the curse marks were gone, which meant that Muraki was gone, and I was free.

            Hey, what do you do when you're free?

*******

            Your eyes were the first things I noticed about you.

            They weren't of any unique coloring, or of any particularly interesting shade.  They were just dark, so dark that I could only see the pupils in bright sunlight.  But they held such a particular focus and clarity that I had never seen before or since.  

            You had such poise in that classroom the first time I saw you.  Your black hair pooled along your shoulder as you stood to ask your question.  I had half-turned to see who spoke, and our eyes met for a brief second before you continued querying the lecturer.

            You never showed a moment's hesitation or fluster.  That is, until I asked you out to dinner.  

            Of course, you had a boyfriend.

            After that, it seemed that my life's regimented time paused and suddenly began to move too fast.  Days became a blur of work, study, classes, and you.

            Friends only, of course.  He wouldn't have liked being trumped, would he, Ukyo?

            Takazano-san was jealous, of course.  Not that you didn't do all that you could to dissuade him of my intentions and to assure him of his place in your heart.  I rarely saw him, only knew that he was there, somewhere in the background, a childhood friend that you had grown up with and loved with ever fiber of your being.  You understood his quirks, his weaknesses, his flaws, and loved him anyway.  Because it couldn't have been any way else, could it?  

            Your capacity for love was always a puzzle to me.

            You and he had completely different lives, a situation that caused the two of you to slowly drift apart as time passed.  Which is how I got something that he could never have, our times studying together, working together.  Late nights before exams, afternoons in the library, a joke over a cadaver.  Not to mention our shared interests in medical research.

            I suppose by the end of it, it had made him insanely jealous.  He didn't like sharing.  

            Red ribbons in your hair on Fridays.  Lavender or a pale peach the rest of the week.  Simple trousers in the classroom, long skirts in the real world.  You were overly sensitive to some things, absolutely clueless about others, but always understood completely when it mattered.  It made you endearing.

            Takazano-san was rich too, of that indolent prosperity that knows no need to work or study.  It amused him that you were so serious about your studies, when you could easily be a rich man's wife and never worry further than the color of your dress or the curl of your hair.  I never liked him.

            You constantly wore gloves, and were careful about who you touched when they weren't on.  One time, our hands met over a pot of tea.  It had been raining, and you had taken them off because they were soaked through.  We both froze.  Your fingers were chastely cold.  At that moment, you looked at me curiously, as though you could see straight through me, before we both realized where our hands were and pulled them away.

            And you knew about Saki.  You were really the only other person who knew.

            Certainly, Oriya enjoyed harassing me about you in his roundabout way.  Insinuations that I should elope with you, steal you off to some tropic isle, or at least the Americas, and hide you from your rich boyfriend and his family.  We'd practice medicine in the jungles of the New World, cure ailing natives in the depths of the rainforest, climb the Mayan pyramids, and eat mangos plucked straight from the trees.  And please, mail him a box of avocados, because he'd always wanted to try one.

            Oriya reads too much.

            That night, after we had graduated, after finally passing an excruciating series of examinations, we were both exhausted and a little tipsy from the celebrations.  You smiled at me and said that I was beautiful in the light of the moon.  I laughed, and told you that I had always felt your delicate beauty outshone anything and everyone that I had ever known.

            I don't know where everyone else was.  I suppose that I didn't care.  But somewhere between the laughter and the champagne and the faint glitter of stars just beyond the city lights, I realized that this was the only chance that I could ever have with you before we both went our separate ways, and so unthinkingly I leaned forward.  To this day if I stop to think about it, I can still hear the distant murmur of traffic and the rasp of the wind against the summer leaves of the trees.

            Our lips met.  The wind flicked by, tugging at your red hair ribbons, loosening them, your black hair flowing past your ear.  A moment of surprise.  You pulled away, startled, and coming to my senses, I was torn between regret and desire.

            So I apologized.  Stood up to leave.  But then, you followed, and kissed me again.

            Two kisses, and a promise.  I would hold it for a lifetime and more, just to be with you.

            Two kisses, a promise.  Yet we never thought to look behind us.

*******

            I leave the infirmary, tousled, with my shirt half-hanging off of me, eyes a little red, and Tsuzuki follows me out with a satisfied grin on his face, happier than he'd been in months.

Really should have buttoned up that shirt properly.  Oh well.

            Somewhere between the shrieks of disbelief, the twisty embarrassment and crackles of surprise, is Tatsumi.  I can feel his annoyance; it's a wonder that work ever gets done around here with these people.  Oh wait, that's him, not me.  Guess I'm still a little bit off balance.

            He asks me to come with him to his office, *without* Tsuzuki, thank you, I need to speak to Kurosaki-kun alone, and gives me that look.  You know, the disapproving one where you feel like you're going to melt or shrivel into a little pile of guilty goo on the ground.

            "Shouldn't you straighten up your shirt?"

            Eek.  His disapproval takes the temperature down a few notches.  Okay, so a quick rebuttoning, and some tucking in.  That seems to satisfy him, for now.  

            And here we go, into the dragon's lair.  I can feel waves of sympathy roll off and bounce around the hall corridor, before hesitating at the door of Tatsumi's office and retreating, as if the office itself was somehow able to deflect emotions.  Or maybe the emotions were just too afraid of it.

            Well, that's always a good sign.

            I take my seat across from him and watch as he settles down amidst his stacks of papers.  Bills, reimbursements, ledgers, reconcilements…it was an orderly jungle of bureaucratic madness all tied up with red tape and requiring multiple signatures.  I realize that I never quite knew exactly how much work Tatsumi did.  No wonder he rarely ever left the Meifu.

            "So.  Kurosaki-kun.  I trust you are feeling better?" Tatsumi asks solicitously.

            "Better than I ever," I reply.

            "That's good to hear," he says with a sigh of relief.  "For a while, we were all worried that you might not make it.  You're lucky that Tsuzuki-san tailed you the entire time and was able to bring you back."

            "Yeah.  I have to thank him later."  For a few seconds, there's a silence that threatens toward awkwardness.

            I could feel his thoughts shift like the turning of gears, a palpable change in the air.  Otherwise, his emotions are still.  I itch to reach out and probe into the details (not that he would have noticed, no one usually does) but I squash the impulse.  No need to be rude, poking around other people's feelings.

            "So."  Tatsumi shifts in his chair.  "I…well, let's start from here…you know what our roles are as Shinigami, correct?"

            "'To investigate unexplained deaths and help souls move on properly.'" I recite.

            "Yes.  It's good to know that you know the policy," Tatsumi says, with a touch of sarcasm.  His voice grows serious again.  "But that means, Kurosaki-kun, that we are not to be the cause of unexplained deaths and souls not moving on properly."  The corner of his mouth creases.  Tension, I guess.  A twinge of anxiety dances through my stomach.

            "I…well, you see…the spell…" The words come tumbling out without enough comprehension.

            Tatsumi holds up his hand.  "I understand the basics of the situation.  Tsuzuki debriefed us yesterday evening after he brought you in.  I'm not here to scold you.  At this stage, it's damage control."

            I nod, witless.  He continues.

            "Here's what we're going to have to do.  First things first, I'm going to need a written report detailing everything that happened, from how the whole affair got started to how it ended."

            That's not too bad.

            "Then, we'll go over it with Tsuzuki's report, and make any necessary adjustments."

            That's not too bad either…just a lot of writing.  And probably prodding.  Tsuzuki's a great investigator, but he's terrible at following up on stuff like this.

            "I'll help you draft a letter of exception.  I know that you know it's the standard policy on collateral assignment deaths, but this one has to include a few other provisions since it wasn't a matter of you helping along a process that already started.  We'll of course need this signed off by the Chief, which should be no problem.  But we'll also need to get corresponding letters of approval and all the correlating documents from the keeper of the death registry and the Hakushaku.  I can handle that end."

            Wow.  I never thought he'd be so helpful.

            "However, the part that really matters is that we'll need to submit all of this for final approval by Enma."

            Okay, that could be a problem.

            "How likely is that?  The approval, I mean."  My voice feels really small for some reason.

            "Kurosaki-kun."  Tatsumi pauses.  I can almost hear the thoughts rolling around his head.  "You killed a man before his time was up.  I can't say that it's never happened before, but in my time we've never really had a case like yours."

            "What do you mean?"

            "In the past, there have of course been Shinigami that kill before a person's time is up.  There've been a few cases in my time…" His voice fades out, as memory sets in.

            "What happened to the others?"

            "Forced retirement sometimes."  He quickly snaps back to attention.  "Some are still in the Meifu.  Others…it depends…sometimes they're sent on, because they've accomplished what tied them to the world of the living.  Then, there's also the possibility of punishment.  But that's never happened in my experience."

            "Oh."

            "But in your case…it's hard to say.  It turns out that there are serious factions…parties that for whatever the case may be have a vested interest in that man's life.  But there are extenuating circumstances…circumstances that may sway Enma in your favor."  Tatsumi pulls off his glasses, and rubs at his closed eyes.  He looks tired.

            I don't have anything to say.

            "I…guess I better get started."

            "All right.  If you have any questions, feel free to come by my office."  Tatsumi says, almost mechanically.  His eyes close again, and he breathes out a deep sigh.  I take that as my cue to leave.

            Who knew that the man would be so much trouble even in death?

*******

            Budding flowers, spring leaves, the new green bursting forth in a riot of color, chasing away the gray.  It's spring but it's really just a trick, you see, a fanciful magician's act to splash the world in such intense color that it's hardly bearable.  Inside of me, it's still winter.

            It always returns to winter.

            The summer my parents died had been laced with oppressive heat.  We stayed out in a rural area during those long sun-drenched days, where dragonflies danced among the rice paddies and the call of the cicadas droned from the trees.  I like to think that it's because Father wanted us to have something akin to an unspoiled childhood, away from the temptations of the city.

            I recall clutching their memorial tablets close, their physical weight a parallel of the strange weight on my heart.  The red banner fluttered in the breeze, announcing their demise – just as your hair ribbons dance whenever the wind decides to twirl them around on its fingers.  But now they're the same, both solitary, without will to guide them through the wind and hold them steady.

            I suppose in some ways, it would have been easier to live if you had died.  I can deal with that.  It's something that I'm accustomed to.  The pain never really goes away, but it becomes manageable.  But you're not dead, and that's enough hope to keep this madman waiting forever for you.

            Please, Ukyo, it was never your fault.  Please come out.

            Don't leave me here.  Not by myself.

            Winter in Tokyo is always such a dreary thing.  But you, you made it brilliant.

In the snow, your footsteps left little trails of darkness behind them.  You loved the cold; it brought a sweet blush to your cheeks and left plumes of your breath lingering in the air.  I didn't care one way or the other – I had always preferred the fleeting transitions between seasons where it is not quite one thing or another.

            Still, you by my side made me forget that such a thing as seasons and weather made sense or mattered.  It all seemed like the internal mechanism of a dream and I was floating aimlessly through the routines of my life as if I was not wholly attached to it, but completely attached to you.

            Takazano-san had not taken it well.  I suppose he had meant to marry you himself, had he ever mustered up the courage to ask.  Beating him to the mark must have snapped something within him.  It had unleashed a being from within him that he himself was probably unaware of.  There had been raging arguments, threats…idle ones, you said, because you thought you knew his heart.  Even so, at that time I made another promise, that I would always protect you.

            Funny thing, ne?  How you drew more important promises out of me than I have ever made in my life.

            I really wish that I could have protected you.  But how do you protect someone from themselves?

            First, the knife.  It came at me from behind and I was unprepared, turning just in time to catch its point along my face as I tripped over the low table in my apartment.  Nearly took out my right eye as it came down.  Sliced a few millimeters beneath the eye itself, tearing a gouging wound along the lower lid of my right eye, deflecting against bone.  I suppose I was lucky; he had been aiming for my heart. 

            Somehow on my way down I managed to knock the knife away.  Of course, that's why he carried the gun too, Takazano-san.  The man for all his faults managed never to do things by halves.

            Blood ran down my face, a downpour of crimson that was a seeming mockery of tears.  It was a window of opportunity, a day in which you didn't normally visit, when he knew that I would be alone.  I suppose he had paid dearly for the information, and whoever let him in my home must have been a few thousand yen richer.

            I almost laughed at the utter ridiculousness of it.  Your Takazano-san, the eternal pacifist, usually such a mousy beast, here with gun and knife, ready to kill, his breath harsh with anger and adrenaline.

            I think I might have smiled then.  Certainly, it did nothing for my cause.

            That's when he shot me.  Thank goodness he wasn't very good at it.  The bullet managed to miss everything vital; organs, bones, major arteries…still, having a hole that went clear through one's shoulder is never a good thing.  I was running out of hands to hold in the blood.  

            Quickly, I was becoming dizzy, and somewhere underneath the searing pain, my fingers felt like ice against the hot gush of my own blood.  Oh, that was not a good thing.

            The rest, I don't remember well.  He was shouting at me, and to this day, I can't recall exactly what he was saying.  I recall it had something to do about you, and how he couldn't live without you, and that he was going to make me pay for stealing you from him.  It just wasn't a priority at the time.

            Then you walked in.  I think that was the moment when he decided he'd kill us both and himself along with.  

            Odd way of expressing love, but I suppose it works on a certain level.

*******

            "Hey."  I wave weakly.  It's now past noon, and I just spent the last few hours getting caught up with my paperwork and mentally agonizing over my report.  I think I'll start on a draft after some food.

            "Hisoka!  Want to go have lunch?"  Tsuzuki's smile brightens the office better than any amount of sunlight could.  I bet you could raise a plant on its radiance.  "There's this great place I found in Chijou that's got…"

            "Sorry Tsuzuki, but I'm not supposed to leave Meifu until they get this cleared up."

            "Oh."  He looks disappointed.

            "I've got a better idea.  Why don't I take you out to lunch?"  I offer.  "Let's go to the ramen place down the street that you like.  We can get gyoza." 

            Immediately, his smile returns.  Sometimes, I think that I could bask in its light forever.

            "Let's go!"  He accepts, quite happily.  Together, we walk out of the office.  It's a beautiful day outside.  It's always spring in Meifu.

            He gets the mabo, I get the shoyu.  We split the gyoza.  Tsuzuki's quite merrily chasing around bits of tofu with his chopsticks, and I'm mowing through noodles like I haven't eaten in three days.  Well, now that I think about it that does sound about right.  Oopsie.

            A bit later, I'm pretty much done.  I'm half-heartedly trailing my chopsticks along the bottom of my bowl, chasing for lost bits of noodles and bamboo shoots, when Tsuzuki's voice stirs me from my thoughts.

            "Hisoka?"

            "Yeah?"

            "I was just wondering.  Why'd you do that?  Kill Muraki."  He's tinged with curiosity.  "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."  He's so very careful about my feelings.  It almost makes me want to smile.

            "I."  I look down into my bowl.  Concentric circles of sliced scallions float aimlessly in the clear broth.  Hmm, it's kind of weird how this flusters me to say it.  "I…that is…"

            "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."  Tsuzuki smiles gently, reassuring me.

            "No, it's okay.  But thank you."  I blurt out.  "I haven't thanked you yet for saving me.  I don't think there's enough ramen and gyoza in the world to thank you with.  For everything that you've done.  I'm sorry I'm so much trouble."  I almost wince at the words, come tumbling out of my mouth without any hint of discretion or rationality.  Tsuzuki's ability to unbalance me and toss out my ability to conduct myself in anything resembling a reasonable manner is either some sort of blessing, curse, or maybe both.

            "Trouble?  You're no trouble."  Again with that smile.  He reaches out, and touches my hand lightly.  I have to remind myself that this is only a friendly gesture, nothing more.  "You're my partner, we have to watch out for each other."

            I nod, unable to speak.  Even the bare trace of his fingers on my hand is heat and light melded together into flesh.  Momentarily, I'm overwhelmed.

            "Now," Tsuzuki changes the tone to something lighter, with a whimsical grin.  It's a relief.  "To celebrate your safe return, let's take a long lunch and go get some cookies."  

            Fortunately, no one in our division minds if you come in late from lunch once in a while.  It's sort of a side-benefit, as long as you're not too excessive about it.  Most people work through lunch anyway when they're in-office, so an occasional long lunch doesn't hurt.  Even Tatsumi doesn't pay much attention to it.

            So we're sitting underneath one of the big sakura trees in front of the general administration building, having an impromptu dessert picnic on the grass.  Cans of milk tea and cookies.  It's so very Tsuzuki in style that for a second, I'm almost, almost tempted to hug him.  He's such an amazingly sweet person sometimes.  At least, when he's not making me crazy.

            It's a pretty still day, not too much of a breeze.  On occasion, petals fall dizzyingly from the high branches.  I get one on my nose while eating a cookie, and Tsuzuki laughs, plucking it off.

            It's heaven.  Well, not exactly.  It's Meifu, but right now it sure feels like heaven.

            Finally, when the cookies have been eaten and the tea drunk, we sit back against the massive trunk of the tree, content to just be quiet.

            "Tsuzuki?"

            "Mmm?"  Out of the corner of my eye, Tsuzuki looks as though he's deep in thought.  I turn, facing him.  Better get this all out at once, before I lose my nerve.

            "I don't know why I killed him.  Most of it's because of the way the spells locked.  Even he said that.  But that's only part of it.  And I guess there was also revenge.  But I think that I felt like I had to do it because…" There's a long silence, but Tsuzuki waits patiently, his violet eyes catching a glint of sun through the dappled shade.

I struggle to get the words out.  "Because I wanted to protect you."  There, now you've said it.  I wonder what he's going to think.

            "Protect me?"  He looks a bit surprised.

            "Yeah.  I don't want him to be able to hurt you again like he did last time."  I wince inside, hoping that this doesn't send him into a spiral of guilt.  I've been skirting the issue for a while now, walking around him as if on broken glass, afraid to damage what fragile peace he had come to in the last few months.

            "Last time…" His voice is toneless.  Quickly, he snaps out of it.  "Did you go looking for him to kill him for me?"

            "No.  He was looking for me.  He came and told me where to find him.  In a dream."

            "That's odd."  Tsuzuki's lips move into a little frown, the one that he does when he's thinking.

            "Yeah.  I don't know why he would do something like that.  Since I have every reason and then some to kill him.  Maybe it was part of a bigger plan."  

            "Maybe he wanted to die," Tsuzuki says thoughtfully.

            "Or maybe he never imagined that I'd kill him," I reply.

            "I guess now we'll never know."  Tsuzuki pauses.  I can feel his emotions shift into a certain odd anticipation.  He fiddles with the empty can of his tea, turning it over in his hands.

            "Ne, Hisoka?"  

            "Hmm?"

            "What are you going to do now?"  Tsuzuki continues to play with the can as if it's the most interesting thing ever in the world.

            "I don't know."

            "Oh."  A weird twisty sense of disappointment.  I wonder what that's coming from.  He looks to his watch.  "Ah, we better get back."

            Tsuzuki stands up, dusts himself off, and reaches down, offering me his hand.  I clasp it, and he pulls me up into the sunlight.

            So what am I going to do now?

*******

            All my life, I had been searching for that one pure moment.  Who thought that it would have been soaked with blood?

            I had never seen you look so shocked before in your life.  Your face drained of color, an unhealthy pallor of fear settling over you, and you clutched at your heart.  No, your shoulder.  I wondered why.  It seemed rather odd at the time.

            You begged him to stop, your voice coming in little gasps, but he was too far past that point, slipped into that realm from which no one can return from once they've begun.  I've seen it only once since in my life.  Both times, I almost died.  

            Always practical, even then you had the presence of mind to reach for the phone to call emergency services, as I was sprawled in a growing pool of my own blood. That's when he grabbed you, pulling you close to him, a violent jerk of motion.

            All this happened in the span of a few seconds, before I could react.  My mouth didn't seem like it was working, my voice unreachable.  Ukyo, I wanted to cry out.  He's going to kill you.  Let her go, Takazano.  Kill me if you want to, I'm the one you hate.  But let her go.

            If I could have that moment back, I think I would have rather died myself than live with what happened to you.  As it was, I couldn't even make my voice work.  Pathetic.

            You tried twisting away but you couldn't, he had you trapped against him, and I was stumbling to my feet, trying to get there, to protect you, to fight him off because you were so small and couldn't possibly, couldn't possibly keep him from killing you.

            You struggled with him for the gun.  I hurled myself at him, trying to knock him down, to take another shot, if I had to.  And in that instant…in that instant, you managed to turn the gun just as his finger pulled the trigger.

            Gods, Ukyo.  Why didn't you tell me?

            His eyes.  They were so surprised in that moment.  Dark brown, and opened so very wide when the blood started gushing from his throat.  The shot went neatly through his neck, severing arteries, passing through his spine.  It was a mortal wound.

            The three of us fell in a tangled heap.  In an instant, you were drenched with his blood, an outpouring of crimson that seemed to go on and on.  But it seemed as if you didn't notice, your mouth opening in a soundless scream, your body twisted with pain.  I couldn't understand why, and pulling you away, I looked into your horrified eyes.  With my blood-slicked hands I felt you over for wounds, trying to discern if he had somehow injured you.  Ukyo, I said.  Ukyo, are you all right?  Are you all right?  

            But as he gasped his final breaths, you whimpered, your eyes growing glassy.  Your fingers clutched at your own throat just as his breath stopped and you passed out, a dead weight against me.  My heart almost stopped when I realized you weren't breathing.  Shakily, I felt for your pulse.  But then, you took a breath, and continued to breathe, and I almost cried from relief.

            Inching myself along the floor, I didn't let you go, but managed to reached over for the phone that had been knocked over in the fight.  A dial tone.  Oh good, he wasn't as thorough as I thought he would have been.  I dialed the emergency services, slammed the receiver against the floor a few times, and happily lost consciousness with you in my arms.

            Ukyo.  Why didn't you tell me you were an empath?

            So now it's spring.  Everything's faded to scars even as the world returns to life.  I can go outside now.  I bury myself in work and research so that I can live without crying or thinking of you.  Oriya's stopped making me call him every day to make sure that I'm eating.  I can move my shoulder again.  There's a jagged scar along my lower eye that won't ever look right.  I think it scares children.  Oh well.  I suppose I'll grow my hair out.

            I've given up on color.  I used to like them, wearing all sorts of different ones, surrounding myself with them because I am so colorless myself.  But now, they seem to mock me.  Black in particular seems to insult me ridiculously.  So white will have to do. The color of mourning, you know.  And of blankness.  I'm growing accustomed to a thousand different of shades of white.  There are so many of them.

            I want to be an empty slate inside.  Instead, I'm full of shadows.

            Your mother was the one told me about your empathic ability.  She came to thank me for trying to protect you; the details had all come out in the police reports.  At the time, I didn't believe it.  I was lying in a hospital bed, patched up and drugged, on a silly amount of painkillers, and thought I was imagining the conversation.  But no, that was the secret.  Muraki-san, this is why she wanted to be a doctor, but could only go into cellular research.  Because she wanted to help people and ease their suffering, you see?  But at the same time she couldn't stand their suffering either, so she had to keep it abstract to protect herself.  Because strands of DNA don't cry or hurt when they die.

            Now it made sense.  All those little odd bits of you tied together when your mother told me.  No one other than your mother knew, your father having left when you were very small.  Your mother cried then, when she told me that you had to be institutionalized, because she knew you weren't ever going to be all right again.  You had killed the man who was closest to your mind, a man you had grown up with, closer than I could have ever hoped to be, and it had shattered something intrinsic to what you were.  Your senses had followed him as he slid down into death and like that, your mind snapped with it.  You couldn't protect yourself.  The pain and guilt was too much to bear, so you disappeared into the darkness of his death.

            You never really woke up again after Takazano-san died.  It wasn't that you weren't physically awake.  It's just that whatever made you Ukyo was gone.  I like to think that you're in there somewhere, hiding.  But I can't say for certain.  It's not as though I can reach you, no matter what I do.  It's a comforting thought, though.

            It was almost an entire year before you would move on your own without prompting, and I waited five years to hear you speak for the first time.  Even then it was just to ask for a glass of water before you lapsed into silence again.  But now that you talk more often, it's not quite you exactly.  Your mind's healed to a degree, in pieces, but what's expressing itself is like the mind of a child.  I suppose there's nothing to be done about that.  But I can hope.

            No amount of therapists could ever piece you back together again, not to anything resembling what you had been.  But a promise is a promise, and I'll still come to visit you at the hospital.  I'll take you out once in a while when they allow for it and you feel up to it.  It's the least I can do since we can't be married properly.  After all, there's still the possibility that you'll wake up one day.

            Ne, Ukyo.  When you wake up, shall we go dancing?

            Please?

*******

            Time flies when you're having fun.  This wasn't very fun though.  

            So it's been two days since I woke up after I passed out fighting Muraki in Chijou.  I spent the last two days bouncing back and forth between real work (re: moving papers around), harassing Tsuzuki to finish his report, and drafting this report.  I've put most of it to text.  It's weird how hard it is to piece memories back together on paper.  You have to work your way backwards through time but at the same time, have to put it together in a linear, logical sense.  And then inside of that, there's all these bits and pieces of memory that come up as you write, little leaps of insight that come flying at you when you least expect it.  

            It's odd how much of the memories of the last few days break down into strange observations such as "my feet hurt because I had been walking around too long" and "Muraki adjusts his glasses a lot when he's agitated."

            Thank goodness for word processing programs.  And the delete button.  I've also become very good friends with cut and paste.  Makes me wonder how Juuohcho was run before it was computerized.  I suppose the file archives were bigger than they are now.  And they used more erasers.

            Oh boy.  I just did a page count, and this is turning into a mini-saga.  I better ask Tatsumi to make sure that there's no page limits or something like that.  Maybe I should write an abstract.   This makes me wonder if there's some sort of Shinigami inter-departmental writing contest.  Best report gets a pat on the back from Enma and free lunch for a week.

            I seriously need a break.

            But first, I'll make a quick summary of the basic events.  It's probably better than an abstract anyway.  At least it'll give me a good place to refer to if I have to rewrite anything.

            _Friday morning, approx. 3:00 AM – Wake up from dream.  Don't remember the details, other than the involvement of one Muraki Kazutaka (appendix 1).  Curse marks hurt (appendix 3).  Go back to bed an hour later._

_            Saturday morning, approx. 3:00 AM – Wake up from dream.  Dream consists of usual nightmare of Muraki (appendix 1&2), except he's talking about current information.  Curse marks hurt.  Stay awake the rest of the night._

_            Sunday morning, approx. 3:00 AM – Wake up from dream.  Dream centers around Muraki, this time he gives an address and a time and place.  Curse marks hurt.  Write down information.  Stay awake the rest of the night._

_            Sunday, 8:00 AM – Day off.  _

_            Sunday, 11:00 AM – Decide to look for Muraki at address provided.  Leave for Chijou (see Tsuzuki Asato's report for collaboration on times and activities).  Tell no one.  Walk around Tokyo most of the day._

_            Sunday, 6:00 PM - Meet with Muraki at designated location (see page 4).  Converse for approximately half an hour to an hour (see page 7-10 for full synopsis of conversation).  Topically, it ranges from a variety of topics including his past dealings regarding both Tsuzuki Asato and self.  He also speaks about his past at length._

_            Sunday, approx. 7:00 PM – Muraki begins casting.  Begin casting as well.  According to eyewitness account (see Tsuzuki Asato's report) the basic mechanics goes as follows: both casters cast similar binding spells at roughly the same time.  Thus, instead of properly binding the other party, the spells collided and colluded, forming an interlinking kekkai that bound both involved parties.  (According to Tenji's treatise on binding spells, this has a 1/40,000 chance of occurrence if both casters are attuned.  See appendix 4 for examples of precedent.)  According to Tsuzuki Asato's report, neither caster could dispel their own spell nor the other's unless there was dual consent in untangling the spells, a third party to break the seal, or the death of one of the casters (see also, report page 11-13 and appendix 4).  This is collaborated with Muraki's own statements regarding the spells (see page 11).  Note that third party interference, according to Tsuzuki Asato's report, would have probably killed both bound parties._

            Sunday, approx. 7:05 PM – Shoot Muraki through the heart with standard caliber handgun (appendix 5), whereupon he dies.  Lose consciousness from the pain of the curse marks.  Returned to Meifu by Tsuzuki Asato.

_            Monday, approx. 10:00 AM – Wake up in Meifu. Curse marks appear to have permanently disappeared, as caused by Muraki's demise (appendix 1&3).  See Watari Yutaka's report for full medical breakdown._

            There.  That seems pretty good.  Nice and sterile.  It's odd seeing it put down like this, in such a clean and tidy way.  Makes me feel better somehow to see it written up so neatly like this.  Almost like it's just another case, instead of something that happened to me.

            I think I'll print out a copy of this whole thing and go ask Tatsumi for his advice.  Maybe he'll know of a better way to word some of this stuff…

            Oh yeah.  Watari's medical report.  I forgot about this.  I should probably read it since I'm supposed to be using it as a source for my report.  Cite, cite, cite.  A Shinigami's work is never done.  Well, let's give it a look.

            Skim, blah blah, skim.  Usual medical junk.  Oh wait.  This is odd.

            _12:00 AM.  It's been about five hours since Tsuzuki brought Kurosaki-kun back to our infirmary.  He's not conscious, but he's awake.  Physically, he's perfectly normal: reflex, blood work, and all the rest seem to be completely okay (charts attached).  I think at this point we've run through every possible test we can think of.  He's a little dehydrated and looks tired, but he's not responding to any outside stimulus.  [I had to kick Tsuzuki out for a few minutes because he was freaking out too much].  I am now going to hook him up to some more scanning equipment and run some more thorough tests._

_            12:44 AM.  The results are back.  I've been comparing his brain wave activity with the scan that the Gushoushin found from his first comprehensive physical here.  Without getting too technical, his brain's not doing too well.  The neural pathways have somehow been disrupted, and in a bad way.  We'll keep monitoring._

_            1:02 AM.  No change.  Tsuzuki's been filling me in on some details – it looks like Muraki said something about empaths being prone to emotional or mental damage from the shock of murdering someone who's close to them.  I think this "closeness" may have something to do with the curse marks that Kurosaki-kun has mentioned.  Tsuzuki doesn't seem to have an opinion on that._

_            1:31 AM.  No change.  :(_

_            2:05 AM.  No change.  This makes me really, really worried.  _

            2:31 AM.  Kurosaki-kun seems to be stabilizing, thank goodness.

            3:02 AM.  Gradual stability is returning quickly.  I assume this has to do with the fact that he's a Shinigami.  I don't even want to think about what would have happened if he was just a regular human being.  It looks like Shinigami can repair themselves better than humans in this way too.  I'll have to make a note of this in the Compendium later.

_            3:55 AM.  Kurosaki-kun's last test results came back normal.  He'll be fine in the morning, once he wakes up.  Poor Bon, he looks tired.  I'm going to leave Tsuzuki here.  I told him to page me if he needs me for anything.  I'm off to bed now.  Watari out!_

            Well, damn.  I guess Muraki was right.  I spend a few moments boggling my way through the file.  Wow.   I was really messed up for a while there.  I set the file down with a thud.

            Okay, it's really time for a break now.  Report writing sucks.

            Hey, there's Tsuzuki.  I wonder if he could use a cookie.  Heh.

*******

            Hello, brother.

            Oh my.  It's been a long time, hasn't it?  I must apologize that I was remiss in coming to visit you.  After all, I didn't know you were here all this time.  And I have been so very busy with my life.  Much has changed, you know.  I should arrange for some tea and we'll have a proper little party, just the two of us, and I'll bring you up to date.  

            Do you think the professor will mind if I sprinkle some cookie crumbs in your tank?  I recall you loved almonds.  Mother and Father did too.  Cyanide tastes the same.  But of course, you knew that.

            Dear, dear Saki.  To think, that Professor Satomi, my father's closest friend who was even friends with my reclusive mother would have betrayed me so.  How old was I then?  Too young indeed to be coming up with such intricate ploys as taking the barely cold body of a family friend's son to use in forbidden research.

            Ah well, can't blame the man, can we?  Two birds with one stone, as they say.  You know, it's really an utter shame that you never knew him better.  He always managed to bring me something nice for me when I was a child – a book, a pencil case, some chocolates.  You would have liked him, I think, Satomi.  Nice, nice man.  Very dedicated, you know.  He'd do anything for his work.  I suppose that makes him a bit like me.  Or me a bit like him.  

            Saki, it was terribly awkward.  You really inconvenienced us.  A murdered boy and no real proof of anything, other than the word of a servant and a youth who still needed the guidance of an adult.  Even then I knew that it would look quite bad in a court of law, especially since both my parents were dead.  Poor Sakaki.  I would never have wanted him to take the blame for anything, much less ending your sorry existence and saving mine.  Besides, he's always been loyal to me.  He's so very good at what he does.  And he makes such delicious tea.

            Oh, but now that makes me wonder.  What if he had missed and hit the wrong boy?  Would you have rushed me to the hospital?  Or would you have been like me and watched as my blood ran out until my breath stopped?

            I trusted him, you know.  Satomi.  He was the only one I knew that could help us with it.  Getting rid of you, that is.  But to think that all these years, he's been hosting you in this fancy glass palace, half-awake, half-dreaming.  It's a shame that he harvested most of your body parts for his work.  Yet still, you're alive, somewhere in there.  Oh, I owe him a great favor for this.

            Betrayal, trust…none of these things ultimately matter.  It all comes down to this beautiful gift that is you.  For you see, my dear, lovely, sweet brother, I think I know where it all went wrong.  Everything that is.  Everything in my life.

            See, I've traced it to its source.  All these years, it's been your doing.  You're the one who started me on that twisted path, turned me into the man that I've become, and I think I'm going to start doing something about it.  Starting right now.

            It's beautiful when all the threads tie together, my brother, like the weaving of cloth into tapestry, or perhaps more accurately, the workings of a silkworm upon its cocoon.  Magic, you see, the transformation of a leaf into worm into silk, a thread that binds together lives and worlds and existence itself.

            I'm really starting to think that it's fate.  It gave me Ukyo and took her away.  It gave me an illness that allowed me to see beyond mortal boundaries, and now that's gone too.  And Saki, it was fate that led you to me, and took you away too.

            But fate's given you to me again.  This time, however, I'm in charge.  And of course, I won't have it any other way.

            Because I'm ending this little party, Saki.  I'm tired of remembering.  I'm tired of hurting.  And I'm especially tired of you.

            Saki.  Did I ever tell you that when I grow up, I want to be free?  I know I used to say I want to be a doctor and maybe in some less responsible moment, I might have said something about wanting to be a musician.  But really all this time, I just wanted to be free.  Free of this burden that grows by the day and makes me wonder if I can safely be around any human being that I care for without unintentionally bringing them suffering.  For as you may recall, I'm quite gifted at pattern recognition.

            But first, I'm going to be a musician.  I've had years to build the instruments, Saki, though I never knew why at the time.  I'll weave myself a tangled symphony, drowned in tears, written in blood, just for you.  We'll play it together, just the two of us, like old times.  I imagine the melody then will be particularly sweet when played in counter to your harmony.  And after that, I'll be free of all this.  And you, who brought with you all the suffering that I have ever tasted in my life, will live again.

            Why?  Oh, I'm not going to tell you right now, Saki.  Maybe later.  Yes.  Maybe later.

            Later, after all, is always a good time.  Now, I think I need to set up an appointment.  Someone once told me a secret.  It was an accident; they didn't realize that this secret was an important one.  Who was it?  Oh, but it doesn't matter who told me – that's for me to know.  I don't like showing my hand all at once.  Makes it more exciting when we reveal the cards to each other in the end.

            All you need to know, my dear Saki, is that it's really a very good secret.  Involves a man who lives but doesn't live, exists but doesn't exist.  He's got such beautiful eyes.  I think he'll need my business card.  Of course, this means I'll need to buy a knife.

*******

            Yesterday, after some minor revisions, I handed in my report to Enma's messenger.  So now, I'm just waiting for a response.  After that got sent out, Tsuzuki and I got assigned all sorts of little jobs to fill up the time.  Blah blah idle hands blah.  Trust Tatsumi to keep everyone on track.  I guess it's a good thing.  The work keeps me from thinking too much about Enma's decision.

            Anyhow, I've been helping the Gushoushin in the library.  And He who Summons Twelve Shikigami at his beck and call, who harasses, I mean, harnesses the powers of the gods themselves, seems to have been temporarily assigned to the ever-so glamorous and rewarding job of filing.  For Tatsumi, of all people.  

            I guess he's just lucky that paper cuts on a Shinigami heal real fast.

            Poor Tsuzuki.  It's only been half a day, and he's already starting to look frazzled around the edges.  I guess anyone would look like that after Tatsumi's been through with them.

            It's lunchtime and we're out on the lawn again.  It's too nice to stay inside.  Today, its sandwiches and we're sharing a big bottle of iced barley tea.

            "So Tsuzuki.  How's the beatings coming?"  I grin at Tsuzuki, once we finish eating.

            "So-so.  I'm up to fiscal year 1952."

            "Eh?  Doesn't he ever file?"

            "Of course he does.  Tatsumi files religiously.  I'm just reordering the recent files to the new system they put in, because of the computers."

            "How far back do they go?"  

            "Really far.  Thousands of years far.  I'm just doing this century."  Tsuzuki winks.  "You know, they used to make them bring in itemized receipts for flint knives they bought in the field.  And the Shinigami used to be paid in fish."

            "No way.  I don't believe you."

            "All right.  Fish and rice.  And daikons," Tsuzuki says with a mischievous smile.

            "Riiight.  So are you going to tell me that they got bonuses in mochi?"

            "Of course.  But only during New Year's," Tsuzuki teases.

            "Of course."  I roll my eyes.  "Anyway, since you know so much about how all this Shinigami stuff works, Mister Expert, why don't you tell me how long you think it'll take Enma to respond?"

            "Enma?"  Tsuzuki pauses, thinking.  "Hmm…I guess it depends.  Most cases can take years.  Or it could be minutes.   I've even heard of a handful of special cases that can take thousands of years to resolve.  It depends, I guess."

            "On what?"

            "Lots of different things."  He lies back down on the grass, his hands supporting his head.  "Like what the priority is right now."

            "What is it?"  I follow suit.  The sky is intensely clear, a brilliant contrast against the pale petals of the sakura.  Beyond the boundaries of the trees, it looks like it goes on forever.  The grass tickles the back of my neck.

            "I don't know.  You never know with Enma."  Tsuzuki feels wavy – uncertain.  I can almost hear the beginnings of a question on the tip of his tongue, but he seems conflicted.  

            "Something wrong?"  I turn my head to look at him, searching him for a response.  He does nothing but stare at the blue sky.

            "Um…not really.  I was just…just wondering."

            "Wondering what?"

            "I…" Tsuzuki looks momentarily flustered, but his attitude suddenly shifts into something more outwardly cheerful, just as his internal mood darkens.  It's like the shadow of storm clouds.  "Oh, it's nothing.  Just some random selfish thought.  I don't want to bother you with it."  He sits up, and starts dusting himself off.  It smells so green, the crushed grass.

            "Right."  I sit up, scowling.  It's really annoying when he's trying to hide something.  Like I can't tell something's wrong.

            "Oh, don't make that face."  Tsuzuki looks crestfallen.

            "If it bothers you that much, just tell me."

            "It doesn't really bother me that much," Tsuzuki lies.  This is so irritating.

            "Don't be stupid, baka.  You're hiding something from me, I can tell."  He winces.  "Okay, I didn't really mean it like that.  Listen, you can tell me."  I try to soften my tone.  "After all, we're partners, right?"

             "That's right.  Partners."  Tsuzuki manages a smile.   "I guess I was just wondering what you're going to do."

            "Do?  What do you mean?"

            "Most Shinigami are offered a chance to go on," Tsuzuki says, running his hands through the neatly clipped grass, his palms brushing their tips, "once they're done with whatever tied them to the world.  You could even go right now, before Enma's decision.  The judgment will just go to a different bureau.  So I guess I was just…just wondering."

            "Go on?"  I feel like a moron.  "I don't understand.  How would I be able to leave?"

            "You just…" Tsuzuki's hands gesture randomly, fluttering in the air like leaves in the summer wind.  "You know.  Put in the paperwork.  Get it approved.  Wait three to five business days for it to clear.  And go."

            "That…" I blink.  "That's just…so…so weird."

            Tsuzuki shrugs.  "It's just how things are done around here."  It's starting to feel cold.  No, that's just Tsuzuki.

            "Baka."  I pronounce.  "I'm not going anywhere."  I give him a friendly shove.   "I like it here.  I'm planning on staying in Meifu a good long time, Enma or not.  Besides, you're totally hopeless without me."

            "Gee, thanks."  Tsuzuki says with more than a touch of sarcasm, but he smiles and I can feel the wash of relief come over him, followed by a warm flush of some other unidentifiable emotion. He reaches out to ruffle my hair, his face plastered with that glowing smile of his.

            "Hey!"  I brush his fingers aside.  "Not the hair!"  

            Tsuzuki grins, his eyes taking on a particularly playful gleam.  "What about a tickle?"

            "Tsuzuki!"

            The sun's so bright that I think I'm going to melt.

*******

            Oh, it's you

            Never thought to see you here.  Alive and well.  You look exactly like you did the day you died the first time.  Brother of mine, why can't you stay dead?

            I thought that for certain you had burnt up. Cinders in the black flames that can even destroy a Shinigami.  Or at the very least, boiled alive in your stew of nutrients, meat in the pot as it were.  A setback, for certain, it left me without a discernable goal, but still, you should really stay dead once you die.  It's very impolite to keep coming back like this, Saki, just when I think you're finally dead.  You're really going to make me mad.

            Now I'll just have to kill you again myself, won't I?  Don't laugh at me.  I'll do a proper job of it, you'll see.  I've gotten very good at this, you know.  Getting what I want.  Murder.  It's all very fine and lovely, especially when it was all practice for you.

            Ah, it seems like you've got a few tricks up your sleeve too.  That one in particular is very impressive.  I'd love to learn it myself.  But do you know?  Fire won't stop me.  Not even Touda's flames.  Even if you hide beyond it, I'll go through.  I'm not afraid of anything anymore.  Just wait, Saki.  I'm here for you.  You cannot escape me again.

            I'm coming, dear brother.  

            Let's dance.

Disclaimer:   
Yami no Matsuei belongs to Matsushita Yoko.

Thanks:   
Thanks to Cyrus, DWE, and Ruby Dian for their help in prereading.  Thanks also to Drakstern for help on the mechanics of the action sequences and to Ruby Dian for answering questions on story details regarding Yami no Matsuei.  Special mention to DWE for inspiring the omake, and to Cyrus for the 'small hands' comment.  You'll see. :D

Author's Notes: 

-To be continued…  
-Continuity is a blend of anime and manga tidbits, plus a healthy dose of wild speculation.  Timeline is post-Kyoto.  It's technically an "alternative universe" following the anime ending.  
-Funeral references from: www.sekise.co.jp/sougi/eng/eng3.html#9  
-Mabo and shoyu are types of ramen (not instant noodles).  Tasty goodness.  Gyoza are those little dumpling thingies.  They're also sometimes called potstickers.  
-This fic was originally an experiment in a different writing style.  It's also an attempt at answering the question at the end of "The First Death" which was originally meant to be a one-shot fic.  Now, it's become a fic that deals with a bunch of different issues such as: Muraki's past, Hisoka's future, how those two relate, and some of the basic mechanics of the Meifu.  If some points are a little obscure, the next chapter should clear things up.  It looks like the next will be focused on the transition and training of a new Shinigami.  I think you can guess who that is.  :o  
-Again, ff.net managed to remove some of the formatting.  This time, it's a few sentences that should be italicized like the ones around it.  It's just a little problem, but I'll try to figure out how to fix it.  In the meantime, if you're interested in a correct draft, it can be found on my fic page.

Bonus!  OMAKE!  (Satire)

That Sensual Night…

            Lately, I've been wondering about Oriya.  It's a terrible cliché, but the man looks as if he could use a drink.  With me, mind you.  He would hardly stand for drinking alone.  Impropriety, you know. 

            But a drink.  It seems that he could really use one.  

            The careless fall of dark hair against pale skin, his expression unguarded - a hiccup.  Yet I can tell that he's getting quite drunk, the way his hands unconsciously trail through the hot summer air, as if swatting at invisible mosquitoes, his lips quietly singing something incoherent.  The movement breaks his usual stillness, as the plop of a fat frog disturbs water. 

            He sighs, his eyes close.  He reeks of alcohol.

            This, you know, was never the way anyone planned it to be.  No one could have expected it; he started pulling off his kimono, complaining of the heat.  I had to restrain him.

            I suppose that's what drew us closer.  Physically, that is.

            I had offered, he hadn't refused.  He never would have asked, but it seemed right at the time, to give him a backrub.  A friendly gesture, really.  He's been so terribly tense.  He slid the sleeves of his light kimono off, pushing the top down, revealing his bare skin.  It's a perfectly nice thing to do in the summer.

            As summer is the season for nudity. 

            There was no massage oil to be used.  No lotions, not even hand creams.  Nothing.  But I can still give a good massage when I put my mind to it.

            And now, his hair falls back over his shoulder, trailing along his back, his head lolling toward me. 

            His eyes haven't opened.  His face is full of lazy contentment.

            "Oriya," I say.  "Oriya, please.  You should think about going to bed." 

            His eyes open at the sound of my voice, and he stares at my hand, resting against the skin of his bared shoulder.  There's not much of a contrast – he's pretty pale underneath his clothes.

            "Please."  I give his back a friendly pat.  "You're terribly drunk.  I'll pull off the coverlet if you're too hot."  And I reach out to him, solicitously turning him around to stand up. 

            Numbly, he leans against me as we rise, and his mouth finds mine.  There's nothing more to say.  Not that I could say anything in any case with his tongue going where it went.  We stand before the open sliding door, to catch the breeze.  I'm terribly shocked.  Fine, I'm not really that shocked.  But it's still a little unexpected. 

            "Do.  Do you think.  That I'm sexy?"  His words come haltingly, voice drawling out the phrases.

            "Well...I can't really say…" I pause.  He says nothing.  "Exactly how much did you have to drink?" 

            "Obviously more than you."  His hand tightly grips my arm.  "Now come here.  Why don't you continue that sensual night under the sakura with me?" 

            "How did you know about that?"  I blink. 

            "I know."  His eyes look toward the saké jar.  Mine do not leave him. 

            "It's none of your busi-"

            "Oh Muraki, who needs a skinny little Shinigami when you've got me?"  He launches himself into my arms.  "I mean, really.  He's got such small hands.  You know what that means."  I can't pry him off.

            "Shall I walk you to bed now?"  I offer, trying to change the subject.  This has taken a turn for the disturbing.

            "Thank you."  He doesn't refuse.  But he does drag me with him.  Uh, Oriya?  This might be a bad idea...Oriya?  AAH!!

Taken from this conversation, and merrily blown out of proportion.  
EvilAsianGenius: There needs to be more Oriya.  :)  
GenrouDocky: Yes!  Preferably with cherry blossoms and nudity.  
GenrouDocky: Er...well,  
EvilAsianGenius: heheheh  
EvilAsianGenius: I'll remember that.  You're gonna make me end up writing a scene with cherry blossoms and nudity, aren't you?  
GenrouDocky: Yes!  
EvilAsianGenius: Oriya Hey there, big boy.  Why don't you come over and continue that sensual night under the sakura with me?  Muraki o.O  
GenrouDocky: LAUGH!  
EvilAsianGenius: Oriya Who needs a skinny little Shinigami when you've got me?  Muraki I'm afraid you don't understand, Oriya, I... Oriya What?  Don't you think I'm sexy?  Muraki ...how much did you have to drink?  Oriya Obviously more than you.  Now come here.  Muraki :o  
GenrouDocky: Poor Muraki!  Muraki *running down a path screaming* RAPE!  
EvilAsianGenius: laugh!  
EvilAsianGenius: Muraki Heeeeeeeeeellllp!  
GenrouDocky: Now there's a spam fic.  
EvilAsianGenius: I'll tack it on to the bottom of the serious one.  ;)  
GenrouDocky: Ooh! omake!

C&C can be sent to cori_ohki@hotmail.com  
I can be found on #squidkitty at irc.starwars-irc.net  
Thank you very much for reading.  I hope you enjoyed it.  I will be working diligently to produce a next chapter soon.    


	3. The Second Life, Part 1

Summary: Enma's messenger brings a new responsibility into Terazuma and Wakaba's life.  Muraki faces the consequences of Hisoka's actions, and Tsuzuki offers a glimpse into the past.  Continuity is post-Kyoto through manga volume 9 (a bit of a mix of both).

The Second Life  
  


If only this were real.

Fire, the snap of the burning air around me.  I'm falling, but I'm still on my feet.

If only this…were…

Saki!  Come back here, you bastard.  I'm not done with you.  Not by half.

*******

Fire.  The snap of the lighter as it clicks shut.  Terazuma scowls, and shoves the sleek metal object back in his shirt pocket.  The last thing he needs right now is to get on that damned Tatsumi's nerves, what with the stupid rule about smoking inside.  Irritably, he mumbles imprecations to himself as he stalks down the hall.

Fine way to start a morning.  He has better plans than sitting around all day in the office like some sort of moss-growing rock.  But here he is, because the Fujiwara case needs final processing, and he definitely isn't going to make Kannuki run back here at the Chief's beck and call just because some papers need to be submitted.

And now this.  Terazuma hates meeting the messenger.

"Damn that Watari.  Too busy my ass.  Too busy trying to figure out how to poison the rest of the department," he mutters, the cigarette between his lips quivering as he speaks around it.

It's perhaps seven, seven-thirty in the morning.  Terazuma's been here since six, trying to get things wrapped up so he can take a deserved day off.  It's going to be a three-day weekend.  He's promised Wakaba they'd go to the beach.  In Summons Division, they don't really believe in paying overtime because of the budget crunch, but they do give them comp time.  So when the Shinigami work overtime when they're in-office, it's expected that at some point, they'll get a day, two days off to compensate.

He taps his foot impatiently, waiting at the appointed spot.  Watari usually meets the messenger on the days that it comes, because he's here the earliest.  Most of the other Shinigami don't trickle in until after eight.

"Of all the damned…" Terazuma's voice trails off, as the hallway darkens.  

It's here.  The messenger.

Enma's messenger never speaks.  The rule is to never ask.  Never look.  Just accept what you've been given, and turn away.  

No one knows how old the messenger is.  Or exactly what the messenger looks like, because no one really tries to look.  It's forbidden.  Some of the older ones say that they think there have been different messengers over time.  Terazuma really can't give a rat's ass.  He just wants done with the daily duty so he can go home and pick up Wakaba.

Terazuma bows his head, feeling the cold passage before him.  The air shifts, as if the gathering of shadows into a particular point.  The Shikigami within him stirs restlessly, unsettled.  He closes his eyes and offers his hands, palms upward.

Two items.

One's a hand.  

*******

I'm still dreaming, but I can't wake up.  

I'm chasing Saki, through fire that laps and licks at me, but never quite touches me.  It seems like the inside of eternity, going on and on.  Occasionally we fight.  But ever the chase.  He laughs, and goes ever deeper into the heart of the flames.  Suddenly, I'm inside (inside of what?), and ribbons of fire dance about me, surging forth.  It's a rapturous blaze, beautiful, terrible, consuming me, destroying me, burning me away.  And then, my eyes open and…

I raise my left hand.  Long flowing black sleeves plucked through with the woven word slide silkily around my wrist.  Gate.  The kanji swirls throughout the fabric, embedded in every inch. These clothes are ridiculous.  I've never had a dream where I was wearing an ancient magistrate's black court garment.  

I don't recall liking black.

Things are becoming clearer now.  The floor is tiled in granite.  Sunlight is coming through a window.  The wall is a bland institutional white.  Everything is clean but a little scuffed, as if well used.

And someone is holding my right hand.  I look up at a very surprised face.  Jet-black hair, dark eyes that hint toward crimson, sharp markings along the cheekbones, pointed ears…barely looks human.  An unlit cigarette begins to fall from his lips.  Its movement catches my eye, and my gaze follows it down to its resting place on the floor.

My eyes.  With my free hand, I brush aside the silvery veil of my hair distractedly.  My eyes wander over to the window.  Both of them.  I can see clearly.  There are birds outside, in the blooming sakura trees.

Sakura.  But it's summer.  These things don't match.

"Just a dream," I murmur, my voice sounding strange to my ears, as if I had never spoken before in my life.  "Just a dream, Kazutaka.  Wake up."

"Sorry to break it to you."  The other man releases my hand.  He's got a thick scroll of papers in his other hand, which he tucks under his arm.  He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.  He taps out a cigarette. Momentarily he hesitates, but he shrugs and lights up anyway.  "You're not sleeping," he says finally, after taking a long drag.  You're dead."  Tendrils of smoke rise into the air.

"Oh."  I blink.  "Well."

"Ah shit."   He scowls.  The markings along his cheeks pull tighter, accentuating his feral features, making him appear deadly angry.  "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.  Kannuki's gonna be pissed."

"Kannuki?"  I'm not sure what to think anymore.  Dream, not dream.  Dead, not dead.  I decide to pinch myself.  It hurts.  The little red mark on the back of my hand fades quickly.

"Yeah.  Okay, I gotta take this to the Chief."

"Chief?"

"Yeah, the Chief.  Just follow me.  Don't wander off by yourself, and whatever you do, try not to talk to anyone just yet.  They can mess with you some other time.  You're still settling in."

I know what all those words mean.  Just not in that order.

He scowls, and grabs me by the wrist, dragging me along.  

"Come on, let's go.  I don't have all day."

Where are we going?  
  


*******

Terazuma isn't that young.  He isn't that old either.  

But what he does know is that he's never had to do this.

Tradition holds it that the first Shinigami to meet a newly born Shinigami becomes his or her guardian.  Mentor.  Guide.  At least, temporarily, until they get settled in.  In another circumstance, it might almost be funny, a joke about the imprinting of a baby chick upon a mother hen.  But today, it's not so good.

Terazuma's in a bad mood.

Usually, it happens in other ways.  Terazuma himself woke up under a sakura tree.  The first person he met (who is now gone, by the way) had been eating lunch.  When she saw Terazuma appear, she dropped her onigri.  Rumor has it, Tsuzuki wandered around Meifu for three days before someone found him.  Konoe himself eventually had to go physically search for Tsuzuki, after he managed to evade everyone else.  When Konoe found him, Tsuzuki had been talking to a sparrow.

This usually didn't happen.  In fact, it almost never happens like this.  Usually, you'll wake up somewhere in the Meifu, walk around a bit, and someone will find you.  There's only been a tiny handful of Shinigami who were hand-delivered by Enma's messenger.  It's been centuries since Enma himself sent one.  

There's another odd thing too.  Terazuma hasn't noticed it yet, but he will soon.

*******  
  


He drags me to a halt before a door.  It's not very distinguished, other than the nameplate and title.  Summons Division, Chief.  The words are familiar.  En.  Ma.  Cho.  I roll the words around on my tongue.  They taste like Chinese.

He lets me go and knocks impatiently, before yelling at the door.  "Yo, Chief!  Open up!  I need to talk." 

"What is it?"  A mild voice replies.  The door opens.  Terazuma looks annoyed.  It's not the Chief.  But I recognize this man.

And he recognizes me.

"You!"  Immediately, the pool of shadow beneath a nearby window begins twisting, previously straight lines now writhing as if reality is suddenly distorted.  Other shadows follow, pooling out of their natural habitats as if heeding a silent call.

"Tatsumi-san."  The word comes tumbling out of my mouth before I remember the significance.  Something inside of me clicks, and a gush of memories come flying out.  My hand slicked with blood, a splattered white coat, black shadows rushing through the air like the crest of a wave, screams in the night.  I blink.

"Oy.  Hold it right there, Tatsumi," the feral man grabs Tatsumi's upraised hand.  Immediately, the shadows pause, mid-turn.  "He's with me."

"What do you mean, Terazuma?"  Tatsumi glares daggers at me.  So that's his name.  Tera.  Zuma.

"He came with the mail.  See?"  Terazuma hands over the scroll.  Tatsumi takes it with a polite nod of acknowledgement.  "I don't know why.  I don't care.  But tell the Chief that I'm done with the papers from the Fujiwara case, and I'm going home."

"What are you going to do?  With him?"  Tatsumi spits out the words like they're poisonous.  

"What do you think I'm going to do?" The corner of Terazuma's eye twitches.  "Enma's messenger gave him to me, so I'm going to take him home and let him figure out what the hell's going on while I babysit.  Hopefully he won't break anything.  Maybe he'll be okay by Monday.  Maybe he won't be.  I don't know, and I don't care.  I just want to get the hell out of this office as soon as possible."

"Enma's…messenger?"  Tatsumi gapes.

"The one and only."  My guardian steps forward.  "I told you he came with the mail.  Look at his clothes, genius.  Why do _you_ think he's here?"

At that, Tatsumi's mouth closes.  He scrutinizes me closely, before catching a hold of the long fabric of my sleeve, and bringing it closer.  The forward movement drags me along.  This, for whatever reason, does not bother me.  I think it should.

"Gate?"  Tatsumi looks puzzled, his finger poring over the woven cloth.  "The Gate of the Western Heaven."

"Enma's mark?  Ah shit."  Terazuma puts out his neglected cigarette against the bottom of his shoe, and tosses the stub in a nearby trashcan.  "I knew I shouldn't have come in this morning.  Damnit!"  He's off on a cursing streak.  

This is about when they remember I'm here.

"Terazuma."  Tatsumi's voice stops Terazuma in his tracks.  He's a cold one.  Tatsumi continues.  "I need you to get him out of here, right now.  Before those two get in.  Do you know what I mean?"

"No, but you can tell me later.  I'll call."  Terazuma's hand catches me by the elbow.  It's a no-nonsense grip.  "Come on.  We're out of here," he says as he escorts me out with quick and determined steps.

I had better wake up soon.  I'm not sure I like this dream.

*******  
  


I love Fridays.  But I think if anyone *loves* Fridays, it's going to be Tsuzuki.  Not just because it's the end of the week – it's also because that's the one day of the week when the Chief buys donuts for the division.  

He's such a fiend for donuts.  Especially free donuts.  Heaven forbid that you get between the man and his donut.  Chocolate with sprinkles or a twist dusted in granulated sugar.  Preferably both: one in each hand, with a hot mug of tea.  Don't ask me how he gets to the tea.  I don't like thinking about it too much.

In the last few months, we've taken to walking together to work.  It's not too far out of the way since we only live a few blocks apart.  Every morning, he comes and knocks on my door.  Okay, once or twice a week – the rest of the time, I have to go over there and drag his sorry Shinigami butt out of bed.

Did I mention he's also a fiend for sleep?  I swear he naps at every possible chance that he can get.  Like that time in Nagasaki, when he was 'pretending' to be asleep so that he could play decoy.  That translates as, "I got bored waiting, and so I dozed off, and I was lucky I didn't get eaten."  Of course, he'll never tell.

So now we're heading in.  It's really breezy today, and I think it might rain tonight.  That'll be a nice change.  You can really get tired of nice sunny days.  Sometimes I just wish for a good lightning storm just to break the monotony.  But I think the majority prefers it like this.  Less snow to shovel, I guess.

Oh well.  If I'm that desperate for weather, I can always go up to Chijou.  It's typhoon season up there now.  If I time it just right, I can always tie myself to a tree and go from there.  Just watch out for the flying refrigerators and livestock.

Speaking of witless animals, Tsuzuki starts dragging me as we get closer, and we come bounding into the office.  We're early today.  Nothing like donuts to motivate a man.  If that man happens to be Tsuzuki, that is.  Sometimes I think the Chief does it just so that Tsuzuki will get to work early once a week.  

Me, I'm still a little sleepy.  I stayed up too late last night reading.  Must require morning tea.  Yawn.  But it's Friday, so I don't care.  I'll just suffer through it, and sleep in tomorrow.  That's one thing I can agree with Tsuzuki on.  Sleeping in on Saturday is the absolute best thing ever.

Of course, we run into Tatsumi.  He's always here at this hour.  Something's wrong, though.  I could feel him before I even got near him.  Anger's darkening the air around him like black storm clouds gathering around a mountain.  I wonder why…its not like Tsuzuki's tried to get any expenses reimbursed lately.

But it's not directed at Tsuzuki.

"You two.  We need to talk."  Tatsumi's voice sounds clipped and tight.  You know it's a bad thing when Tatsumi skips all the niceties and goes straight to the point.

"Is something wrong, Tatsumi?"  Tsuzuki looks at Tatsumi.  He's worried.  And feeling just a little anxious.  I guess he's probably wondering what he did wrong this time.

Tatsumi motions us to follow him, and we go into his office.

"It's Muraki," Tatsumi says, once we've sat down.

"What about him?"  I ask.

"He's back."

"That…that's impossible."  Frantically, I start panicking, fumbling at the buttons of my shirtsleeves.  Are the curse marks back?  Are they?  God, please no…I can't…not like this…oh God…

"What do you mean, Tatsumi?  I thought he was dead."  Fortunately, Tsuzuki seems a bit more grounded about this than I am.  But it's starting to get really cold in here.  I'm shivering, badly.  My fingers don't work right.  Tsuzuki reaches out and his hand closes over mine, and the tremors subside a little.  Just a little.

"He's quite thoroughly dead.  That's why he's here."  Tatsumi frowns.

"What do you mean, here?" Tsuzuki stands up with a violent burst of motion.  The chair nearly tips over from the force of his movement.  Anger crackles off of him, like a building charge of lightning.  Well, I guess I am getting my thunderstorm after all.  "Here?  In Meifu?!"

"Enma's messenger brought him with next week's directive," Tatsumi says bluntly, gesturing to Enma's latest communiqué.  "He's at Terazuma's place right now.  Or he will be, in a few minutes."  Tatsumi checks his watch.  

"Is there a decision?"  I blurt out, without meaning to.  The anxiety of waiting for Enma's decision has been eating away at me for the last week or so.  It's insane.  Tsuzuki keeps telling me to relax, and be patient, but it's not exactly an easy thing to do.  The fact that it could take anything from days to centuries doesn't make me feel any better about it.

"Sorry, Kurosaki-kun," Tatsumi says.  "But that causes us some more problems.  I talked to the Chief about having you two sent out on a case, any case…but until we get a decision from Enma, you won't be allowed to leave Meifu."

Oh right.  I forgot about that.  Damnit.

"At the very least, we need to get Tsuzuki-san out of *his* way," Tatsumi continues.  He fiddles with his pen.  Little pinpricks of anxiety dance around him.  "I'm sorry.  But you're going to have to be reassigned, Tsuzuki."

The room grows silent. 

No way.  This isn't happening.  It's so cold that I think I'm going to break.

Wake up, Hisoka.  It's just a bad dream.  Please let it be just a bad dream.

*******  
  


There are lots of things that bother Terazuma.  Very high up on the list are things involving his inability to touch women and Tsuzuki's existence.  But what bothers him more are mysteries.

Terazuma likes to think that he understands Meifu.  So when things like this come along, he quickly becomes disconcerted.

There are rules and regulations.  You can fill a room with the books on Enma's various decrees over the millennia.  You can fill a bookcase with the various writings on Shinigami and their nature.  The Shinigami themselves follow a policy that if compiled properly, weighs at least five pounds.

Meifu's mysteries, on the other hand, fill perhaps a page of terse wording.  If that.

Unfortunately, they tend to be terribly important mysteries.

Terazuma doesn't like this.  He doesn't want to play babysitter.  He doesn't like being shuffled out of the main office, even if he did want to leave it.  And especially, he doesn't like to be reminded that once he was also a newly born Shinigami, gaping at the sakura that flowers even in the winter.

Terazuma really, really doesn't like to be reminded of that.

He looks at Muraki, and thinks that they should get him something less ridiculous to wear before the day's out.  The black silk of the archaic officer's garment that Muraki wears is said to be the first and the last garment; the one that Shinigami appear in and are expected to leave in.  Terazuma plans on ignoring this tradition and leaving in style when the time comes.  Or maybe some shorts.  That's not going to be for a long while though. 

But more importantly, he knows the significance of Enma's mark on a Shinigami, the word woven into the very fiber of the cloth.  He doesn't know what the specific significance is though.  Everyone's got a different one.  Terazuma himself was marked with 'fire.'  He had always thought it meant something else until he met KaGanKokuShunGei.

All Terazuma knows about the significance of Enma's mark is that it's significant.  This annoys Terazuma to no end, because he doesn't like puzzles that fold into themselves.

But as he looks at Muraki, he can't help but feel a sick twisty feeling in his stomach.  After all, Terazuma has been a detective for years, and he likes to keep up with things.  Especially mysteries.  So he knows that this is the second Shinigami in less than a century that has been singled out by Enma with the mark of the gate of the western paradise.  It's unprecedented.

As he drags Muraki out of the general administration building, he's wondering what the significance of this is.

Especially since he knows that the first to carry Enma's mark is Tsuzuki. 

*******

"So."  Finally, he releases my elbow.  I take this to mean that we're a safe distance from whatever he wants me removed from.  "I'm Terazuma.  Terazuma Hajime."  

"Muraki Kazutaka."  We're walking down a tree-lined sidewalk.  The wind rustles the leaves above us, scattering the mosaic of shadows at our feet.  We've just passed a park.  It looks like any nice neighborhood in Tokyo, if all of the people and street traffic were removed.  It's very quiet here.  I'm starting to feel more solid, more awake.  It helps immensely.

"Muraki.  I remember you now."  Terazuma looks at me warily.  "11th division." 

"11th division?"  I blink.

"Yeah, the Chief said that if you had continued the way you were going, they were going to add a division just for you," Terazuma scowls.  "I think he was kidding, but you really knew how to cause trouble."

"Ah.  I suppose that's right."  Knew.  We walk.  It's a lovely day.  The air is exceedingly clean, far too much so to be the Tokyo that I know.  Yet it certainly looks like Tokyo.

"How are you feeling?  Hungry?"  Terazuma glances at me speculatively, as if he's not sure what to make of this entire situation.

"A little."  It takes effort, but I continue on blithely as if there's not a thing in the world that's wrong.  If nothing, it makes me feel more grounded.  Deep breaths.  I conceal my hands within the long sleeves of the robe so they won't shake so noticeably.

"There's food at my place."  Terazuma looks at me crosswise.  "You'll need something else to wear too."  

"Thank you, Terazuma-san.  That sounds good."

A long pause.  

"You're taking this pretty well. You know you're dead, right?" Terazuma looks annoyed.

"If you say so."

He exhales sharply, a derisive sound.  "You of all people should know about Meifu.  I mean, you knew how to find Tsuzuki."

"Yes.  He's not hard to find, if you're serious about it."  

"Right.  Serious.  You know, I've never, EVER met a normal human being who could see us if we didn't want them to, serious or not."  Terazuma sounds immensely irritated.  "Don't give me any bullshit."

"Mmm."  I make a noncommittal noise.  I turn my head slightly, taking in landscape, trying to discern what I can out of it.  A little owl's perched on a nearby tree.  It flaps away before I can get a closer look.  Owls in the daytime.   This is not a natural place.

We walk in silence the rest of the way.  It's not too far.

"We're here."  Terazuma stops in front of a modest western style house.  It's cream with dark brown trim.  His hand rests on the black wrought iron gate that leads into the front yard.  "Before we go in.  Ground rules.  You're not allowed upstairs, ever.  Don't break anything, even if you feel like it.  And if you give Kannuki any problems or bother her – anything at all, I will personally gut you alive and give what's left to Tatsumi."

"All right."  I keep my voice mild.  The man's a terror.

"As long as you understand that," Terazuma says.  He opens the door.  

"Hajime-chaaaaan!"  A bright voice sings out sweetly, followed by the growing clatter of footsteps coming down the stairs.  "You're back!  I made breakfast, and you better hurry or else…or else…" She stops when she sees us.

She's a wisp of a girl, barely tall enough to reach the height of my shoulder.  Long waves of auburn hair frame her delicate face, tied back with trailing pink ribbons.  She's wearing what looks like a school uniform, though it looks to be a bit out of style.

It's a twinge of pain, the memory.  I work on ignoring it.  However, indifference only fuels it.

"Hey Kannuki.  Sorry I'm late."  Terazuma pulls off his shoes and sets them at the entrance.  I follow suit.  "This is Muraki Kazutaka.  I met him this morning."

"Oh, okay.  Um, pleased to meet you!  My name is Kannuki Wakaba."  She beams prettily, extending her hand to mine.

"My pleasure," I take her hand politely, moving through the motions automatically.  She looks at me curiously.  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Terazuma twitch with suppressed anger.  "Kannuki-san, is it?"

"Oh, you can call me Wakaba.  Everyone does.  Did you want to join us for breakfast?  You'll have to excuse us, it can't be for too long – we're supposed to meet with some friends to go to the beach today."

"Er…about that…Kannuki-kun…" Terazuma looks almost embarrassed.  "I sort of can't go."

"Why?!"  

"See, I *met* him.  He just got here.  You know?"  Terazuma gives her such a pleading look.  "He's now my responsibility."  He looks resigned.

"Ooh!"  Her eyes grow very wide.  "You're new?"

"It appears to be so," I reply.

"Why didn't you say so?!"  I think I may have triggered some sort of strange maternal instinct, because her voice is full of concern as she's ushering me into the house proper.  This in contrast to Terazuma baffles me.  "Come here, let's get you some breakfast, and then you can rest.  Terazuma, go see if you can find something of yours he can wear."

I wonder what they eat here.

  
*******

"I refuse."  Tsuzuki states finally.  We've been at this for a few minutes now.  The walls are practically about to melt with force of the anger building up in here.  I'm jittery as all hell.  Who needs coffee or tea to wake up with this sort of madness?  I am totally and completely awake now.  In fact, I don't think I'll be able to sleep again, ever.

"I told you, Tzusuki, we don't think you're going to be safe around here with him.  Now, I know you don't want to abandon Kurosaki-kun," Tsuzuki winces when he says that, but Tatsumi doesn't notice, "but really, you need to think about yourself for once.  What if Muraki…" Tatsumi trails off, unable to continue.  He's frustrated.  It's like the rasp of an iron file against the edges of my senses.  I concentrate on blocking things out.

"It's okay, Tsuzuki.  I understand…it's only temporary, right?  Go to Chijou for a while.  If Muraki's really a Shinigami, he's bound to get assigned to something in the next few weeks.  If not, peace division will get rid of him."  I say, a little more blankly than I mean to.  It's just so hard trying to block things out while trying not to think of Muraki.  It's like trying not to think of an orange.  Don't think of an orange.  Orange. Damnit.

"No, it's not okay."  Tsuzuki is working himself up into a fierce rage.  If this doesn't get resolved soon, I think I'm going to have to run away, because my brain's about to snap.  "Hisoka, I'm not leaving.  And Tatsumi…"

He takes a deep breath.  Uh oh.

"Tatsumi.  I refuse to be reassigned, under any circumstance.  If you bring this up again, I will transfer."

"Tsuzuki."  Tatsumi's shock is like the plunge of ice.  I've never felt Tatsumi so scared, ever.  Everyone knows that Tsuzuki's been courted by the nine other kings of Meifu at one point or another.  I guess they're willing to put up with his bad record for the sake of his power.  It's no big secret that Tsuzuki's always been singled out by Enma, even right from the beginning.

"I mean it, Tatsumi.  I won't allow this.  I finally found a partner who will stay with me, no matter what, and I'm not going to abandon him."  Ouch.  Tatsumi looks calm, but there aren't enough words to describe how dark it's gotten inside of him.  I can see his hand tremble.

"Tsuzuki," I say incredulously.  It seems to snap him out of that scary anger zone.  He immediately begins to calm down, the anger trickling out of him.  Now he feels scared.  I think he knows that he's hurt Tatsumi.

"Tatsumi, I…I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."  Tsuzuki apologizes, his hand reaching out for Tatsumi's.  Tatsumi however, straightens up, pulling away.

"That settles it, then," he says woodenly.  I can feel him straining for control.  "Please let me know if you need anything.  I need to begin processing next week's directive." It's a dismissal, if I've ever heard one.

I drag Tsuzuki out.  The door closes behind us.

Emotions might be too scared to cross the door into the dragon's lair, but they're also afraid to leave it.  I'm trying very hard not to pry, but it's so tempting to find out.  

I guess there's always been something going on between those two.  Since I've never heard of anyone who was able to make Tatsumi cry.  
  


*******  
  


A delicate bud of a girl, frozen in a moment of eternal time.  If it weren't so tragic that she was obviously dead, I thought, it would be a lovely thing.  

Wakaba chatters happily as she sets dishes of food down, blithely ignoring any hint of strangeness, as if this were just any normal breakfast in any normal place.  I've changed into something of Terazuma's, some loose khaki trousers (too short at the ankle) and a dark blue long-sleeved shirt that he said I could keep, as someone had given it to him as a gift but it was too big.  It's more colors than I have worn in over a decade, and after the initial shock, it's proven to be surprisingly pleasant.  The black garment has been carefully folded and packed away.  Apparently I'm to keep it safe.

"First things first," Wakaba pronounces, "Itadakimasu!"

We eat.  It's a nice simple breakfast, hot rice and pickled vegetables, a bit of grilled fish and fried eggs.  I'm not sure what I expected, but something so comfortingly Japanese seemed to be a kindness.  

After we're done eating she pours me some more tea from a little ceramic pot.  Something about that sets off a barrage of memories.  Without meaning to, I press the back of my hand against my closed eyes, as if to blot out the images.

"Something wrong?"  Terazuma looks at me.  I would almost say that's a look of concern, but it's hard to tell with him.  He constantly looks angry.

"Mmm, no.  Just a twinge," I whisper.  "It'll pass."  But it doesn't.  I can't believe this.  I usually have such a good hold over my thoughts and emotions, but I'm all a terrible mess today.  It hasn't been like this in years and years.  But it's worse than usual, because I can't block it out.  It's as if I can't remember how.  Her hand on the tea pot, it was ice cold from the rain…

"Muraki-san?"  Wakaba pats me on the head as if I'm a fond stray.  "Do you want to go lie down?  It's going to be like this for a few days."

"Days?"

"Yeah, it takes a while to get used to being here," Terazuma explains.  "I think it has to do with your body being too new for the soul or something like that.  Watari told me about it once, but I don't remember all the details."  He stands up.  "Come on, I'll take you to my room.  You can go lie down or something.  I got to call Tatsumi anyway."

"Thank you."  I let him lead me to a room on the first floor.  It's a good-sized room, part office, part bedroom.  There's a narrow bed in the corner, and massive bookshelf against the wall lined with labeled binders. 

I lie down, on top of the neatly made covers.  Everything smells unfamiliar.  I've never really been anywhere that wasn't my own or on my terms in ages.  I don't remember the last time.  

Terazuma leaves the room, and closes the door behind him.  I suppose he thinks of it as a favor.

But I don't want to be alone like this anymore.  

*******

The house is nice and quiet now, filled with brilliant morning light.  Terazuma's sent Wakaba off to meet the girls from the peace division (Kazuma Shin and Nonomiya Kochou).  They had all managed to get a day off at the same time to go to the beach.  But Terazuma's stuck here.  

It makes him mad, but he makes light of it to Wakaba.  After all, she's worked hard and deserves a day off.  Of course, he does too, but he's not going to ask her to stay on account of him.  She gives him some resistance at first, but in the end, they both agree that it's better not to break a date with the peace division girls.  After all, they have big guns.  But she promises to be home early, so she can take him out to dinner.  She feels that it's the least she can do.

Terazuma goes about the kitchen, cleaning up after breakfast.  It's their arrangement – whoever cleans doesn't cook and whoever cooks doesn't clean.  Terazuma does a lot of cleaning.  It's not that he can't cook because he's actually pretty good at it, but Wakaba likes cooking for him, so he lets it go.  Besides, there's just something about her cooking that in his mind tastes better.

After he's done, Terazuma checks on Muraki, who looks like he hasn't moved since he left him there.  Muraki's been very well behaved so far.  This fills Terazuma with much relief.  When Terazuma first woke in Meifu, his way of dealing with it was to break things.  Lots of them.  It had been very embarrassing once things settled down.  Muraki though, seems to be sleeping.  This makes things much easier for Terazuma.

Terazuma decides that it's time to call Tatsumi.  Among the other questions that he has, he needs some advice on what he has to do to get Muraki set up.  Tatsumi hasn't oriented anyone himself, but Terazuma thinks that he probably knows the most about the process since he has the access to the most information short of the Gushoushin.

"This is Tatsumi."  Tatsumi sounds particularly terse.  Terazuma vaguely wonders what pissed Tatsumi off as he leans against the cool tile of the kitchen counter.

"Hey, it's me.  So this Muraki guy, did the directive mention anything?  Is he legit?"

There's a pause.  Terazuma hears the sound of papers being shuffled.  "Yes, all his papers are in order.  It's official.  I've already started a file."

"I wanted to know what I'm supposed to do to get him set up.  Do I need to drop by and pick up any documentation for him to sign or something?"  Terazuma rummages through a utility drawer and pulls out a notepad with a pen, and idly taps it, waiting for Tatsumi's response.

"No, everything's arranged for.  His account will be activated on Monday, and housing will come through sometime next week."

"What am I supposed to do until then?"  Terazuma writes down the dates, and frowns.

"Save all your receipts, and submit them with a statement of business justification.  You'll get reimbursed for any expenses."

"No, I mean, what am I supposed to *do*?  I don't know how this works."  

"Hold on, I need to find the checklist," Tatsumi says.  Terazuma waits patiently.  "Ah, here it is.  Explain the basics of Meifu.  Answer any of his questions.  Get him fitted for clothes.  Have him study the policy manuals.  Take him around the office and make sure he knows where everything is.  Introduce him to the necessary people in the various departments."

"Let me write this down." Terazuma scribbles furiously.  "Anything else?"

A sigh.  "I need you to keep him away from Tsuzuki and Kurosaki-kun."

"I'm not going to ask why, because that's a stupid question, but exactly how am I supposed to keep him away from them?  Even if you send them out, he's bound to run into them sooner or later."

There's a pause.

"I'll think of something.  I'm waiting for the Chief to return from a meeting.  Just call in before you come in on Monday."

"All right.  Have a nice weekend then."

"Thanks.  You too."  

Terazuma sets the phone down and looks at his list.  It's not too bad.  He'll go check to see if Muraki's awake and try to get some of these things done.

But first, he's going to go water the garden.  It's too nice of a day to be cooped up indoors.

*******

"Hey," I say.  Tsuzuki looks up at me, but he doesn't seem to really notice.

Tsuzuki is sitting at his desk, with a big pile of cases that need to be reviewed before closure.  The done stack is remarkably small.  He's lost in his own little world.  I can feel his mind running over through a cycle of thoughts.  I'm not sure exactly what he's thinking about, but I can definitely guess.  

The thoughts run back and forth through his head like a hamster in a wheel.  If it wasn't so serious, it might be funny. 

"Tsuzuki."  It's not hard to sound annoyed when you're annoyed.

"Oh, Hisoka."  Tsuzuki snaps out of it.  Hamster's off the wheel.  Good.

"Tsuzuki, it's lunchtime."

"Oh, okay."  He looks at me a bit blankly.  Maybe I need to grab that hamster before it gets back on.

"In most countries, that means we walk out of the office for about an hour and eat something.  One of those being Japan," I say.

"Right."  Tsuzuki stands up, and follows me docilely out.

It's getting toward the end of the month, and that means tuna sandwiches.  Or at least it would for Tsuzuki if it wasn't for me.  Tsuzuki's terrible with his finances, so by the end of the month, his account's running on fumes.  You know it's a bad sign when he starts paying with change.  Me, I turned out to be surprisingly good at managing money.  Never had to when I was alive, but it's not that hard.  Maybe it's because I've always been fairly decent with numbers.

It's sad how even in the afterlife nothing's free.  I still have to put coins in the washing machines at the laundromat.  You'd think that somehow the clothes would clean themselves through some mystical process, but no.  Every weekend, shove a pile of clothes in a bag and walk down the street to use their machines.  No matter how many Shikigami a man can call, he's still got to separate the darks from the lights.  It's almost depressing.  I guess in a pinch, you could always ask them to do your laundry, but somehow I think that could only end in tragedy.

Sometimes I've wondered how the others get around their finances, since only the people that work for Juuohcho (like us) draw a paycheck.  I'd ask, but it's too rude.  My guess is that there are enough employees of Juuohcho to keep the economy afloat.  I'm not sure though.  It's not like we have a stock exchange or something.

Anyhow, bad news calls for the big guns, so I take Tsuzuki to a local curry house.  I personally despise it because it's too spicy, but they have some vaguely western noodle dishes that aren't too bad.  I only know they're vaguely western because of Tatsumi – he's been overseas before, and apparently they don't put squid in spaghetti carbonara over there.  Their loss, I guess.

Too bad neither of us are particularly hungry, because the food's really good today.  Normally Tsuzuki would be tearing into his lunch like nobody's business, but today, the only thing gnawing is the guilt.  He's just pushing the croquette around like a little crispy boat on a sea of curry.  It's really depressing to watch.

"Tsuzuki."  He's startled from his thoughts.  "Are you all right?"  Well, I know he's not but it always helps to ask.  It works better than 'Stop guilting in my general direction, it's starting to get on my nerves.'

"Sure," he says, brightening.  Someone pay me a hundred yen for every time he tries to conceal his emotions – I think I want to start saving up to buy a house.

"Right."  I glare at him.  "You've been moving that around your plate for the last ten minutes.  I think it's safe to eat, since it's probably dead by now."

"Oh."  He stares blankly at his fork for a moment, as if he just remembered it was in his hand.  Automatically, he starts eating, as if he doesn't remember exactly what he's ingesting.  Well, I guess that's a start.

I watch him eat, silently.  That's really one of the more interesting things about being with Tsuzuki, is to just be able to be quiet together.  I guess we've really grown on each other to not feel like we always have to talk.  It's kind of nice.  It's all still strange, and I'm a little weirded out by it, but the fact that I'm not alone anymore is actually…well, cool.  Especially when I remember that he's willing to fight with Tatsumi and get in Muraki's line of fire for me.  

Muraki.  Ah shit, and I was enjoying these noodles.  Oh well.  I guess I'll get them wrapped up and eat them later.  I set down my fork.

"Hey Tsuzuki," I say.  "What are we going to do about Muraki?"

"We'll both have to stay away from him…at least for a while."  Tsuzuki looks at me thoughtfully, tapping the handle of his fork against his chin.  I could hear the thought gears grinding around his skull.  "I don't know if he'll try to find us or not, since Terazuma probably has him on a short leash.  But to be safe…"

"To be safe what?"

"I was…er…" Tsuzuki's starting to blush, just faintly.  I can't believe this.  He's embarrassed into the red, but he's fighting it.  I almost want to laugh because it's so ridiculously sweet.

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering if…maybe-you'd-like-to-stay-over-at-my-place-this-weekend," he says in a breathless blur.   Then, more manageably, "Because then, if something happens, I could protect you.  Or vice versa," Tsuzuki adds, seeing my expression.  "We could order pizza."  He's smiling now and it's quite genuine, if a bit pleading.  I like him much better like this. 

"Sure, that sounds good.  I'll meet you after work."

*******

New clothes and so appallingly normal that I'd almost be disgusted with myself if the alternative wasn't some sort of ridiculous Heian era garment.  Instead of Terazuma's castoffs, I've now managed to somehow pick up Tatsumi's.  I've a feeling that Tatsumi-san won't find it of much amusement that we wear practically the same size in clothing.  Perhaps if we are to be coworkers, as it seems to be, I shall need to invest in a high-powered flashlight if I want to survive my first week.

At the least, I have shoes.  Black leather, a little tight, but at least I'm not barefoot anymore.  

It will have to do for now as it was what the tailor had on hand.  At least he found me a shirt in a pale, almost silvery blue – brown of course would hardly be appropriate with my coloring.  That however was about as far as luck would have it, as I'm back to a black suit until more clothes can be made.  I suppose on a certain level it's sufficiently funereal.  

This reminds me.  I should see about going to my own funeral, if I haven't missed it already.  At least, I would be properly attired.

In the last few hours, there have been a variety of things that I've learnt about this place.  Most of them are incredibly mundane, such as where to buy one's groceries, or the corner store that sells sodas, cigarettes, and candies as well as the newspaper.  It's a thriving community, the one that lives in the world that parallels the world of the living.  

According to Terazuma, the bulk of the population outside of Juuohcho's employees consists primarily of humans whose connection to the world of the living is so strong that they cannot pass on properly, with the remainder consisting of the occasional spiritual beast and a tiny population of retired officials.  Apparently there's an option to retire and stay in Meifu, instead of going onto the true death.  

Death.  Oh yes, we're not merely friends anymore.  I suppose now we're lovers and living together, as the analogy goes.  

The memory of death is frightening.  I don't particularly enjoy thinking of it.  But mere minutes after I laid down in that dim room on a stranger's bed, my mind wandered back to that moment, the instant when bullet penetrated flesh and bone and on through the heart.  It was a wrenching pain, a second of blackness that smeared and spread like a splatter of ink against my consciousness.  And then I was falling.

Yet it seems that it was good that the boy knew what he was doing.  I suffered very little in death, as it goes.  Nice boy, that one, when he's not thwarting me.  Surely he would argue that I deserved far worse, but it was a clean shot.  I've no opinion though, other than perhaps a sense of irony that makes me want to congratulate him on his little feat.  It's not easy to kill a man in one blow, you know.  Amazingly fragile on one hand, and surprisingly difficult to kill on the other, human beings.  

Terazuma's a wealth of information if you know what to ask.  Otherwise, he continues pointing out various points of interest as we walk back to his house with the packages of clothing.  The park.  A kind old woman that will sell you homemade dango if you've been properly introduced.  The fact that there is nothing here that runs on internal combustion.  A little girl that sells flowers from that particular shop with her brother.  The homes of various retired Shinigami.  It's all so very bland, but in some ways, it's comforting.  Far easier to digest than the maddening replay of memory and pain.  

"Any questions?" Terazuma's voice stirs me out of my thoughts. 

"Ah?  Let me think…" It seems that my mind's uncharacteristically disordered.  Well, it can't be helped, this being my first day of existence.  Terazuma walks patiently along, waiting for me to reply.

"Tell me, Terazuma-san," I pause, my mind wandering back to the sight of myself in the tailor's mirror.  "Why is it that all my scars have disappeared, save for this eye?"  I brush back my hair, revealing a perfectly normal eye, save for the fact that it doesn't quite match the other, being of a pale blue instead of quicksilver gray.  "Yet I recall that Tsuzuki's scar remains…"

"Eh, that?  'M not sure exactly what it means," Terazuma says, looking a little uncomfortable.  "Everyone's different.  Some things stay, others don't."  He kicks a stray pebble from the path as he walks.  "Kannuki-kun, she's got that one orange eye.  It's because she saw the bomb that killed her go off out of that eye.  Sato-san – he was Tatsumi's old partner – was a blind deaf-mute until he became a Shinigami.  I think Tatsumi might have been blind too as a human.  Not sure about that, it's just something I heard.  Me," And this, he stops for emphasis, "If I stay too long in one place, my shadow sticks for a few seconds."

We wait, and sure enough when he moves, the impression of his shadow lingers before fading like a wisp of black smoke against the ground.  

"I see.  Does that have to do with how you died?"

"Yeah."  He gives me a look that ends the conversation.  We walk in silence the rest of the way back.

*******

Terazuma hates remembering.  He really does.  Because even after over fifty years, the pain can still be unbearable. 

There were reasons that he and Wakaba became partners.  It wasn't originally because of his condition – that came later, after KaGanKokuShunGei.  It was just a lucky coincidence that she could tame him.  The main reason had to do with the way they died.  They were only three days apart.

It had been the beginning of another hot summer's day.  The sun blazed in the sky.  Terazuma had been on his way home from the graveyard shift in the Hiroshima Prefectural Police.  It was his least favorite duty, mainly because he couldn't stand to leave his sister home alone.  Izumi-chan was only nine then, and they were orphans.  He had promised to protect her always, no matter what.  His mother had died giving birth to her, and his father joined the military out of grief, only to die in Manchuria, leaving Terazuma to raise her.

But that morning in early August, when he returned home, the house had been ransacked.  Shattered glass.  Smears of blood on the walls.  His sister had disappeared.  He was frantic, panicked, madly searching through the streets of the city after he had called in the report.  Has anyone seen my sister.  Please, I need to find my sister…

And that's when he saw it.  A blinding flash.  Wakaba says the same thing – that  it was like the descent of another sun, only it was brighter and hotter than anything she had ever seen before in her life.  She only saw it out of the corner of her eye before she died.  He was engulfed.

At least he wasn't alone when he died.  Nearly forty-five thousand came with him in the initial wave of deaths.  Juuohcho had been temporarily overwhelmed, and agents had been scrambling madly to get the situation under hand.  Then three days later, another twenty-two thousand.  That's when Wakaba came, from Nagasaki.

Terazuma does not like being reminded of the end of the war.

When things had settled down, he was allowed by the keeper of the death registry to look for his sister.

She wasn't in it, though.  Her candle still burns somewhere in the Castle.

Part of him is glad she's alive, somewhere in Chijou, an old woman by now, perhaps with her own children and grandchildren.  Terazuma likes to imagine that she lives in a beautiful house, with a doting husband that loves her and adult children that visit her with their babies.  Her house has big windows to let in the morning sun and a garden where she can plant sunflowers and irises.  She'll still dance in the summer rain with her yellow umbrella, even though it embarrasses her children.

He imagines that she has a calico cat and she'll name it Neko-chan, because that's her favorite name for a cat.  It's uninspired, but it's so very much something that she would do.  He wants to go visit her someday.  If he can find her.

It fuels his existence.  Sometimes, it keeps him from sleeping at night.  That's why he sleeps downstairs, because he wouldn't want to wake Wakaba up if he's roused by nightmares.  His worst nightmares involve her suffering somewhere dark and unknown.  Yet as time passes, there are less of them.  But that doesn't stop him from desperately wanting to know what had happened on the morning of August 6, 1945, and where Izumi-chan is now.  

She had packed him a bento that night before he left for work.  It was just rice with an umeboshi, a pickled plum so salty and sour that just thinking of it used to make his mouth water.  It was also a symbol of the nation, like the Hinomaru flag with its rising red sun, a patriotic lunch in those times.  She knew he loved them, and even though expenses were tight because of the war, she had saved up money selling the flowers that she grew to buy him umeboshi.  To this day, he can't eat them.

Terazuma still searches for her.  Every year, on her birthday, he makes an appointment to meet with the keeper and go through the year's deaths, searching for her name.  This is the fifty-fifth year since she disappeared.

And yet, he hasn't found her.

He might, though.  Someday.  If he recognizes her.

She'll recognize him, of course.  After all, he hasn't changed a bit in fifty-five years.

*******

Now that I think about it, I've never really been inside of Tsuzuki's apartment.

Usually I just stand on the front step and hit the doorbell enough times to wake the dead.  Or the downstairs neighbors.  Then he lets me in so I'll stop kicking the door, and I wait at the entry while he scrambles around for clothes.  Sometimes it's really funny, because you'll hear him cursing up a storm, stumbling over something in his room while changing.  Once in a while, I'll wince when he stubs a toe.  At least it heals fast.

After work, we went out for a cheap dinner (two item combo – 390 yen each plus tax) and took a walk in a nearby park.  It was cold, looks like it might rain late tonight, but fortunately we both had our coats.  Then we stopped by my place and I picked up some clothes and my toothbrush, as well as a few books for the weekend in case I have some free time.  

This is seriously weird.  I feel so nervous doing this.  But I guess it's necessary, for his safety and mine.  In case of Muraki, break glass.  I think I'll get stickers made up with that slogan and a little graphic of Muraki getting poked with a big stick.  In the eye.  I'll put it on every flat surface in Meifu until the peace division kicks my ass for littering or vandalism or whatever they call it.  Actually, that might be fun.

But I'll live.  With Tsuzuki, for now that is.  It's nothing more than embarrassing.  But thinking of my green-and-white toothbrush and how it'll be resting on the bathroom counter next to Tsuzuki's…god, I think I'm going to blush now.  

So now, he's invited me in, we've taken off our shoes, hung up our coats, and he's cheerfully giving me the grand tour.  That's basically an overstatement.  For all his abilities, he can only afford a small place.  I suppose this has something to do with the debts he's racked up with his various creditors.  Poor guy.  Too bad it doesn't work like the Chijou, unless they have loan consolidation here too.  Well, actually that might be a bad thing, now that I think about it.  What if the Hakushaku held all his debts instead of them being scattered amongst various people?  Ugh, I don't even want to think about that.

Tsuzuki's apartment is the consummate bachelor's apartment.  I bet that if I looked in the 'harvest gold' colored refrigerator, it'd probably be bone bare, except for bottles of water or soda (but probably beer) and moldering cartons of take-out.  He's got a cozy living room and a tiny kitchen with an adjoining dining area.  The bathroom's probably better described as a closet with a shower, tub, sink, and toilet.  At least it's got a window.

His furniture looks like a conglomeration of styles dating back to the 1920's – a smattering of old traditional furniture mixed with anything from the art-deco bookshelves to the round dining table, which looks to have been bought in the 1980's, a monstrosity of glass and brushed aluminum.   All of this in a very traditional-style apartment, down to the hardwood floors, square-paned windows, and sliding doors.

Either he's got incredibly strange taste, or he bought everything on sale.  Guess what I think?

It doesn't take long for us to end up in his bedroom.  It's surprisingly bare, nothing but his bed and some sliding storage compartments built into the walls.  Even his bed's simple – just a futon laid out on the tatami-matted floor.  Seeing it sends little weird shivers up and down my spine.  I can't even tell what Tsuzuki's feeling because I'm so unbalanced by the sight of it.  The whole thing's a rumpled mess, with a heavy cotton-quilted coverlet patterned with flowers that's bunched up where he rolled out of it that morning, and there's some cast-off crumpled clothes tossed on top of it.

Okay, breathe, idiot.  I'm totally freaking out on the inside.  I don't even know why.

"S-s-so…er…Tsuzuki," I'm starting to stammer.  And I can feel the trace edge of a blush rising up in my cheeks.  Damnit, damnit, damnit!  "Um, I forgot to ask you…you know, earlier…uh…" My brain's not working.  I must kick it back into gear.  "Oh right.  Earlier today, it seemed…um…I think Tatsumi was kind of upset about something you said."  I finally blurt out.  But now his previous state of happiness is melting away like a popsicle in July.  Ah crap.  Is it physically possible to kick yourself in the head? 

But he recovers, at least on the outside.  I think he's trying to evade me.

"Ah, Hisoka, that reminds me.  I should show you my book…let me see if I can find it."  Tsuzuki says brightly.  "Here, have a seat, and I'll look for it."  He gestures absently at his futon bed.  There is no other furniture in the room, so I put my bag down next to the door, and sit on top of the rumpled coverlet.  My hand absently smoothes the wrinkled cotton.

Tsuzuki goes around sliding open drawers to find whatever it is he's looking for.  His thoughts are a quiet focused hum that drowns out the guilt.  I guess it's a good thing.  I really shouldn't have brought that back up.  

"Ah ha!"  Tsuzuki pulls out a slightly dusty looking tome.  "Here we go."  He wipes off the dust with his hand, and cleans it off against his black trouser leg.  It leaves a faint mark.

"What is it?"  He plops down next to me on the futon, carelessly.  The urge to blush is rising.  I'm thinking very, very hard about something else, something that won't make me turn beet red.  Like kittens.  Kittens are nice.  Nice and fluffy.  Kittens are snuggly.  And so's Tsuzuki.  Damnit.

"My photo album," Tsuzuki beams.  "Most of these pictures are from right before the war."

He opens it up to the beginning.  There they are, in black and white, standing at the entrance of the general administration office, all eighteen of the summons division staff.  Well, not really.  The only people I recognize in this picture are the Hokkaido girls, Tatsumi, Konoe, and Tsuzuki.  The rest are completely different.

"Who are these other people?"  I ask. 

"A lot of people retired or moved on after the war," Tsuzuki explains.  "Those were hard times.  We saw too much."  His tone suggests that that's as far as he's willing to go on that subject.

"Oh," I say, feeling stupid.

"Anyway, let me show you what it used to look like," Tsuzuki smiles at me, reassuringly.  We go through the album while he makes little comments.  The typewriters in the main office are clunky and archaic.  Everyone's so stiff in these old pictures, lined up like they're ready for the execution squad.  I guess that they weren't quite used to the phenomena of taking pictures.

"Who's this?" We hit upon an old yellowing photograph tucked between the pages.  Tatsumi sitting in a chair.  He's wearing a stern suit that looks to be from the 1920s or 30s with little round wire-framed glasses.  Beside him stands a man in dark, likely black traditional clothing, a katana and wakizashi belted at his waist, his long hair pulled into a ronin's topknot.  It's an even older picture than the others, set on a heavy paper backing.

"Eh?  Oh, that's Sato-san."

"Sato-san?"

"He was Tatsumi's first partner," Tsuzuki explains.  "I barely ever saw him, because he was almost always on assignment.  When Tatsumi first started, Sato-san wouldn't let him do anything other than paperwork, which is how we became friends.  Once, a long time ago, Tatsumi told me about him.  Sato-san was the first person that Tatsumi met, and even taught him how to use the shadow power when they became partners.  It's rare for a situation like that to happen."  

"Wow…I didn't know that."

"Tatsumi doesn't like to talk about it," Tsuzuki says, uncomfortably.  Quickly, he changes the subject.  "Sato-san was really powerful.  Maybe even stronger than Tatsumi.  Everyone that knew him was afraid of him, even Tatsumi.  But once they started letting me do cases, he retired.  He said he was tired of working Tokyo district.  That was my first real assignment," Tsuzuki adds.

"Why were you in Tokyo?"

"It's just the way things work.   Enmacho was founded in Tokyo, which makes it the most important block," Tsuzuki shifts into a more comfortable position, with his legs sprawled out before him, the book set aside and forgotten.  He pulls his pillows over so he can lean against one, and offers me the other.  I rest against it gingerly.

"The way I understand it, they try to match Shinigami in pairs that are similar in strength, or at least potential.  In the less important districts, like mine, it doesn't really matter if they don't match exactly.  But in Tokyo, the higher-ups would rather leave it half-open and make other areas take up the work until they can get the right person to fill the position.  You have to be really powerful to be assigned Tokyo because of the potential for trouble.  That's why they were glad to get Tatsumi, because Sato-san's old partner was killed in the field and he didn't have a partner for several years.  Tatsumi's probably the only one that can match Sato-san.  They were partners for about ten years?  I don't remember exactly how long it was.  But when I started being sent out on assignment, Sato-san decided it was time to retire.  He still lives in Meifu somewhere."

It's definitely a part of Tatsumi that I had never known existed.  I suppose not very many people have been around long enough to know about his past, and those who do don't speak of it.  I listen as intently as I can but I'm getting sleepy…ugh, the day's finally catching up to me and I feel really tired.

"Tatsumi and I were partners from when I started until the end of the war.  After that, he told me he didn't want to work together anymore.  He had the Chief transfer me to second division."  Tsuzuki says thoughtfully.  It takes me a moment to recognize what he's feeling – I think it might be longing.  At least part of it is.  It's hard to tell what he's feeling because it's so multi-layered, and I'm too tired to sort it all out.  It's just a fuzzy hum in the background right now.  "I guess he didn't want me to be responsible for Tokyo."

"Did you want to stay working there?"  I ask vaguely, shifting against the pillow.  Tsuzuki's bed is really surprisingly comfortable for a futon on the floor.  Maybe it's because I'm tired, but it's so soft and warm.  I just want to curl up in it.  I think I'll do that.

"Mmm, no.  But I didn't want to let Tatsumi down either."  Tsuzuki's lying back now and looking at the ceiling.

I'm fading.  Tsuzuki's last words seem to drift around my head like little wispy clouds.  "Don't worry about it," I say fuzzily.  Actually, I'm not sure at this point, because I could be dreaming.  My hand closes over Tsuzuki's.  He looks sort of startled, but I don't really care.  "I'm sure Tatsumi understands, because he knows you and you're his friend."

I don't remember what happened after that.

*******

"Tadaima!"  Wakaba's back from the beach.

"Welcome home," Terazuma responds, as he finishes up balancing the month's accounting.  "I'm in the living room."

"Ah!  Hajime-chan, look what I found for you!"  Wakaba beams as she steps in.  Her hair's in a happy disarray from the sea breeze, and she's flushed with excitement.  It almost makes Terazuma smile, but it's not his style.  

Instead, he manages with a "What?" and an "I hope it's not alive."

"Shells!"  She hands him a little white paper bag.  Inside are tiny shells like hard little butterfly wings, in variegated shades of pearly violets, blues, and greens among cookie crumbs and sand.

"Thank you," Terazuma wonders exactly what he's going to do with shells.

"Aren't they pretty?"  Wakaba smiles at him, as if trying to extract a smile back.

"Sure," Terazuma manages a grin.  "I think I'll put them in on my desk at work."

If it's possible, Wakaba's smile grows brighter.  Terazuma looks away uncomfortably.

"Ne, Hajime-chan?"  Wakaba says as she's moving around the house, tossing her sandy beach towel in the laundry bin toward the back of the house, and walking into the kitchen for a glass of water.  "How was your day?"

"Just great, Kannuki," Terazuma replies.  "I did dishes, watered the garden, did some laundry, and balanced my checkbook.  Oh, and I put Muraki back to bed, because he wasn't looking so good after we got back from the tailor."

Wakaba walks in and sits down with her partner.  She's burning with curiosity.

"So?  What's he like?"

"Pretty nice guy, as murderers go.  Seems calm.  Asks some stupid questions though and can be kind of annoying."  Terazuma says with a frown.  "Just don't get to close to him," he adds.

"Why?"  Wakaba blinks.  "He's one of us now, isn't he?"

"Yeah.  But that doesn't erase what he did in his previous life.  Just look at Tsuzuki."  Terazuma responds.  "He nearly chopped Kurosaki-kun in half."

Wakaba pouts.  "That's not fair, and you know that, Hajime.  He was possessed by a demon."

"Whatever."  Terazuma shrugs.  "But if I were you, I wouldn't trust him until proven otherwise.  Right now, he's pretty helpless, but who knows?  Haven't you ever read his file?"

"No.  What did he do?"

"Let's see…last year in Kyoto, he murdered nearly a dozen women, a university professor, and drove Tsuzuki to the brink of suicide.  That's just one case."  Terazuma says, counting off on his fingers.  "Then there's the passenger cruise ship that he sank…the secondary deaths from the girl he brought back from the dead…just from three cases total in the last two years.  They've been digging up the archives and it might go back even further.  The first one's from when he was about fifteen.  There's some issues with the unresolved status of his parents and brother."

Wakaba's stunned into silence.  "I…didn't know that.  That man must have lived a very sad life."

"Don't feel sorry.  Just don't let him get close to you."

"Oh, Hajime.  Don't be silly.  I'm tough."  Wakaba poses, flexing her arm.  "I can handle myself.  Unless this means that you want to protect me?  From that bad man."  Her voice gets girlishly sweet.

"P-protect you?  I have to do that anyway, since I'm your partner.  But don't expect me to come running if you get yourself in trouble, because it's not like I'm on call twenty-four hours a day."  Terazuma makes a face.

"Sure, sure.  Whatever you say," Wakaba pokes Terazuma in the ribs, inciting a yelp from him.  "But I think we can trust him to not hurt any of us.  Besides, if he does, I'll just send Kazuma and Nonomiya after him, and they'll kick his butt."

"Yeah, but if he can outwit Tsuzuki…"

"Baaaaka!  Anyone can outwit Tsuzuki if they've got strawberry cake.  Or donuts."

"Yeah, that's right."  Terazuma can't help but snicker.

"Well, you decide where you want to go have dinner, and we'll go out to eat like I promised.  I'm going to go take a shower.  Why don't you go see if Muraki-san wants to come?"

"All right."  

Terazuma's hoping that Muraki's still asleep as he walks toward his room.  He and Wakaba don't go out to eat very often, and he'd like to treat her to something good.  Of course, they'll probably have to fight for the bill since she wanted to take him out, and she'll threaten to hug or kiss him and make him transform, but that's the way they are.  It's just what they do.

Terazuma knocks on the door.  After a moment, there's no response, so he opens it.

It's empty.  Muraki's not where Terazuma left him.

Terazuma panics, wondering where Muraki is.  After all, Wakaba's home, and he could be doing something terrible.  Awful.  To her.  He can faintly hear her singing in the shower upstairs.  Quickly, he rushes out of the room.  As he does so, Terazuma notices that the back door is open.  He remembers closing it when he went out to the garden earlier, so he goes out running.

Muraki is outside in the growing twilight.  The rising moon's a pale sickle glow behind a veil of gathering clouds.  His silver hair and pale face makes him seem like a floating ghost in the falling darkness.  He's got a piece of pink chalk in his hand and he's drawing something on the flat concrete surface of the back patio.  Terazuma's about to say something, mainly because he's mad, but he waits for Muraki to finish.  He knows he shouldn't interrupt.  The rules are very specific about this when it comes to spellcasters.

A few minutes later, Muraki's done.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, casting a conduit?"  Terazuma's twitching with anger.  "This is my backyard!"

"I'm curious.  I want to see if I can go back."  Muraki says simply.  "This is the only way I know how."

"Go back?"  Terazuma blinks.

"To Chijou."  Muraki gestures absently at the darkening sky, as if it held the key to unlocking the world.  "I have unfinished business."

"Yeah, don't we all?"  Terazuma fumes.  "You're not allowed back.  They won't let you go until everything's settled and you've been assigned.  And even then, you can't just do as you please.  There are rules!  And you!  Have to follow them!"

"Rules?"  Muraki shrugs dismissively.  "Tell me, Terazuma-san.  Wouldn't you use this second chance as a way to fix what you can?"

"Second chance?  This is not a second chance!"  Terazuma's quickly getting dangerously mad.  "You're here because you fit the job description.  You have unfinished business, have a strong attachment to the living world, and have enough power to pass whatever tests they decided to throw at you.  Like everyone else who works for Juuohcho.  This is not a second chance.  This isn't your special chance at redemption or salvation or whatever words they're using for it these days.  You're just here to work because you're strong enough and smart enough, and you had better well do a damned good job of it, or they'll send you packing off to somewhere worse.  Don't even think about going back to Chijou on your own!"

"Then what am I supposed to do?"  Muraki looks perplexed.

"Get back inside and behave.  We're going to go out to dinner in about an hour, and you're coming along with us because I can't trust you by yourself if I leave you alone.  I'll get you the policy manuals and you can start reading.  And don't think I won't kick your ass if you don't know everything by Monday.  I've been really nice so far because it's your first day, but don't think you deserve any of it.  Because unlike those people up in the Chijou, I know what the hell you're about, Muraki Kazutaka, and I'm not about to let you play me for a fool."  

Terazuma stomps off and comes back with a running garden hose and a broom.

He hands them to Muraki.  

"But first you're going to clean that shit off my patio."

Muraki's mouth opens as if he's about to say something, but he shuts it.  Meekly, he goes about scrubbing off the intricate circle.  Terazuma watches him like a hawk, making sure that he erases every possible mark.  Before he goes back in the house, Terazuma confiscates his chalk.

"You're not going anywhere or doing anything unless I know what you're up to," Terazuma says as they walk inside.  He looks at Muraki closely.  "And go wash your hands.  I don't want you getting dirt on my manuals."  Muraki complies silently.

Some day, they'll all look back on this and laugh.  At least, that's what Terazuma is hoping for.  After all he's never had a pet serial killer before.

*******

When I was alive, my life was full of ridiculous meals.  The afterlife isn't particularly better.

Whether my dear and sainted mother (who art in hell, I suppose, or whatever equivalent exists for people such as her) and her occasional mangled attempts at meal creation, or this very odd noodle shop of the afterworld that appears to be staffed by old ladies and floating waterfowl, it seems that no matter what, I can't escape from strange situations when it comes to my dining arrangements.

Until now, I've managed to not gape like a tourist, but it's difficult to maintain one's composure when something that appears for all intents and purposes to be a floating anthropomorphic flamingo hands you a menu and asks you for your drink preferences.  I'm beginning to suspect that perhaps Tsuzuki-san *was* the model of the average Shinigami when it came to finances, as everything here appears to run on a shoestring budget.  I believe the theory crystallized when Terazuma took full advantage of my momentary hesitation to order a round of ice water.

But the food is surprisingly good, hot bowls of thick udon noodles with pink-and-white half-moons of fishcake and green slivers of scallions.  The company, on the other hand, is decidedly questionable.  Wakaba's a gem of a girl – friendly, polite, and as cheerful as daffodils on a bright summer's day.  Terazuma, on the other hand, is perhaps near to the only person in the world I've ever met that could conceivably put the fear of God in me.

Perhaps, it's to do with his eyes.  The closer he gets to upset, the redder they get, a swimming haze of color in what normally should be a dark brown close to black.  I imagine it to be like a swirl of blood, a crimson ghost that flutters through his vision.  It's terribly discomfiting.  Particularly since in the twelve hours or so that I've known him, he's quite often angry.

We eat quietly.  Someone – I'm certain it was Oriya – once told me that the measure of an excellent restaurant is in the silence, as good food will preempt any conversation.

"Ah, Kannuki-san," I begin, once we're mostly done with the meal.  "Tell me, do you know how long most people work as Shinigami?" 

"Muraki-san, you don't have to call me that," she replies, setting down her chopsticks.  "It sounds so stiff and proper.  Call me Wakaba."  Her personality is permeated with a simple clarity – genuine in every aspect.  It's certainly rare, and infinitely refreshing.

I smile, calculatedly.  "Then, if that's the case, you should call me Kazutaka, if you like."  I can see Terazuma's hand tremble at Wakaba's pleased expression.  Well now, there's something.

"All right!  Kazutaka-san it is!"  She beams, and pushes her bowl forward on the table, finished.  "And as for your question, it really depends on the person.  Sometimes, if people finish up what was keeping them tied to the world, they move on quickly.  Some people stay even after they stop working because they like it here, or they don't feel like moving on.  And some people…well…"

"Some people never finish up their unfinished business, and are stuck here until they can earn the right to retire." Terazuma interjects, gesturing with his spoon.  "It's in Enma's interest to have a staff where people can't tie up their loose ends, so they're stuck here forever."

"Oh Hajime.  That's just a rumor."

"If that's the case, then what about Tsuzuki?"  My attention snaps to the fore at the sound of the name.  "He'll be working here forever, since everyone that he knew when he was alive is already dead, and he's always getting written up.  You know as well as I do that most of his violations come from him trying to help his partners move on.  That's why he's had so many partners," Terazuma scowls.  "The man's an absolute moron to be going against Enma like that.  One day he'll go too far and Enma'll send him packing."

"I don't know about that," Wakaba replies, looking troubled.  "Because they let me look through the registry after I came…"

"Yeah, me too.  But you don't see them letting me go off to look for my si…"  Terazuma's mouth closes around the last word, stopping the line of logic before it can progress.  He looks at me suspiciously.

It's all very, very interesting. 

Just as he's about to continue, the bill arrives.  The two spend a minute or two half-heartedly bickering over it before Wakaba pulls out her purse and starts counting out the money.

"I'm very sorry to inconvenience you, Wakaba-chan," I say, once the waiter's taken the money.  "Might I offer to take you out once I'm settled in…?"  I let the question linger in the air.

Wakaba blushes furiously.  It's quite adorable.  I certainly hope that Terazuma's watching this.

"Oh no, it's all right!  It's our responsibility to make sure that you're taken care of until everything's been set up!  They'll reimburse me for this anyway."  From the corner of my eye, I can vaguely tell that Terazuma's eyes are swirling with color.  His expression is pulled into a deep scowl, the marks along his cheekbones drawn tight with tension.  I don't know if Wakaba notices this.  It appears that she doesn't.

"But really, it's the least I can do," I reply smoothly, leaning over to pat her hand.  Terazuma's expression suggests that he's close to property damage.  "After all, you've been gracious enough to give me shelter and provide me with meals – you really should let me take you out sometime."

At that, Terazuma stands up with a quick jerk, rattling the dishes on the table.

"We better hurry.  It looks like rain outside," Terazuma says bluntly, his tone indicating that our conversation was effectively over.  Wakaba begins to gather up her things and put on her coat.  I stand and push the chair in against the table.  Terazuma glares at me as if he could wish for nothing but a horrible and messy death upon me.  But before we leave the table, Terazuma motions for me to wait.  

"One more thing," Terazuma grabs the receipt.  He thrusts the slip of paper at me.  "This is your first lesson."  

"Lesson?"  I take the receipt and study it.  It was a very inexpensive meal.

"Yeah, it's the first rule of being a Shinigami," Terazuma says, as he taps out a cigarette.  "Keep all your receipts.  Lose this, and I'll feed you to KokuShunGei-sama."

I nod, and carefully tuck the receipt into my pocket.  Shinigami, is it?  I suppose I'll have to grow accustomed to that.

We step out into the windy night.  It's grown cold.

*******

It's so warm, Tsuzuki.  I don't think I've ever been this warm before in my life.  Not hot, not cold, just…perfect.  Perfectly right.

I've never felt this right before in my life.

Somewhere, I can hear rain.  It falls with a soft uneven patter. 

It's dark.  I can't see where I am, but I'm so sleepy that I don't care.

I'm holding Tsuzuki's hand, but I don't know why.  Doesn't matter.

It feels so good here.  The heavy coverlet presses against me, but I'm pressed against his warmth.  His arms around me.  It's right.  I can hear the slow and steady beating of his heart.

I'm going back to sleep now.  Good night.

*******

Faintly, it begins.  The tap of rain against the glass, an old friend welcoming me into night.  I've cigarettes now and am smoking one, setting aside the heavy tomes of the policy books for tonight.  Wisps of smoke linger in the air, catching against the faint light before dissipating.  The desk lamp's a spot of light against the darkness, and I'm a white shadow against black.

It's the first night.

I'm here.  It seems I may be here for a long while to come.  I'm unsure as to whether this is a good or bad thing.  It's just what it is.

Time ticks away, the clock tells me that it's far past midnight.

Inside, outside, it's quiet, but for the soft fall of rain.  

Exhale.  Pale smoke mists around me.

If there are no second chances, then what is there left to do?

When I was alive, I lived for a past I could never return to, and a future that I could not touch.  Now, it seems that the only thing left is to go to bed and wait for tomorrow.

Still, I must return somehow.  To the living world.  There are apologies to be made.  A friend who had to arrange the funeral.  Farewells.  

I don't think I can face them, but I must.  It's a promise that I have made to myself.  Let it be the only one that I don't have to break.

In the land of ghosts, the way seems long and unforgiving. 

I suppose it's only fair.

*******

This is Wakaba's dream.

She's had this dream for over fifty years.  This year was the fifty-fifth.

It's mid-morning.  She's in the kitchen making onigri for lunch.  The summer heat is stifling.  She's worried.  

The war's progress has been bad.  Okinawa and Iwo Jima have fallen.  Reports are spreading about a horrible new weapon that destroyed Hiroshima earlier this week, killing tens of thousands in one mighty blast.

But that's not what Wakaba's worried about.

Her older brother was a pilot, and a year ago the aircraft carrier he was on engaged the Americans.  Afterwards, the military had picked up stray survivors off of the tiny Pacific islands surrounding the site of the battle.  They were sent letters of condolence.   Missing in action, presumed dead.  She hopes that maybe he's still alive somewhere, hiding from the Americans and breaking open coconuts for his dinner.  Her father's somewhere in the Phillipines with the navy.  He's a mechanic.  They haven't heard from him in weeks.

The door opens.  Tadaima.  Okaeri.  Her mother's back from the government office.  She goes there every morning to see if there's news of her husband.  Today though, she looks drained.

Something's wrong.  Wakaba sets down the half-made onigri, and washes her hands quickly.  The rice is sticky on her fingers.  Her mother's slumped against the doorway, shoulders shaking with sobs.

Wakaba's afraid.  A cold sick feeling sinks down into her stomach as she walks toward her mother.

Her mother's crying.  He's dead.  Her father's dead.  He'll never come home again.  His ship was blown to pieces and sunk by the Americans.  There are no survivors.  Not even bodies to bring home.

Wakaba's crying now too.  She can't help it.  She reaches out for her mother.

That's when the bullet entered her chest.  It's a fatal blow.

Her mother had never been stable.  She had lived only for her husband.  Her family.  Her fragile mental state was a secret that no one else was supposed to know.   Even from the time her and her brother were little children, they knew that they should never, ever speak of their mother's fits.

And now, she tells Wakaba, now they can all be together again.  Happy.  A family reunited in the world of the dead.  Wakaba can only watch helplessly as her mother turns the gun on herself in her madness.

It's mercifully brief, but the image is forever seared into her memory.

As Wakaba's dying, she pulls herself close to her mother's body.  She's still warm.  I forgive you, Wakaba says to the vacant eyes.  I'm sorry I couldn't help you.  I wanted our family to be together always too.  

Seconds tick by.  Quickly, the pain is starting to feel like something that's happening to someone else.

At precisely 11:02 A.M., as Wakaba draws her last struggling breaths, her skin ice cold from blood loss, she happens to turn her head ever so slightly.  Out of her right eye she sees the world's second atomic bomb explode in a blossom of brightness, a second orange sun that burns with the fury of a primordial star as buildings shred before its destructive path.  A tiny tree in the distance flies into the air like a scrap of paper caught in the wind, and that's the last thing Wakaba sees before she's consumed in darkness.

Everyone thinks that they know the way she died.  So tragic.  After all, she did come in the first wave of deaths.  No one knows what really happened, except her.  Not even Hajime.

Tonight, it's just a dream.  Wakaba unconsciously pulls the covers closer, as rain streaks down her windows.

*******

The cold gray morning light wakes me from deep, dreamless sleep.  The air beyond the confines of the bed is damply chill, and I can hear the uneven beat of the raindrops on the roof.

My arm's feeling kind of numb.  I move it, trying to shake off the feeling of pinpricks dancing along my skin.  Nothing happens.  

This confuses me.  So I push myself closer to awareness, closer to wakefulness.

My arms are fine.  But there's an arm wrapped snugly around my shoulders, and my head is pillowed against it.  It's not my arm that I'm feeling.  It's Tsuzuki's. 

Normally, I'd panic.  I'd probably hit him too, if I were thinking straight.  But I don't, because it's too cozy here, and I'm full of comfortable drowsiness.  His feelings are running over into mine, filling me with a profound sense of warmth and well-being.  I guess it's because I'm here in his arms.

In his arms.  Embarrassment floods my cheeks with hotness, and the feelings overflow before I can stem them.  Tsuzuki stirs; woken by my momentary fluster, and his eyes blink open.  When he becomes aware of the situation, his cheeks become faintly flushed with color.

"Good morning."  He smiles sheepishly, and shifts the arm that's beneath me.  A few seconds later, the pinpricks disappear.  His hand reaches up to absently touch my hair.

I'm too dumbfounded to speak.  All I can do is stare at him.  We're facing each other in the bed, his arms still wrapped around me.

"You fell asleep," Tsuzuki explains, his blush deepening by degrees as his fingers catch a strand of my hair, feeling it between his fingers, "but you were holding my hand, and you wouldn't let go."  He smiles, a little apologetically.  "I couldn't move without waking you.  I guess I must have fallen asleep too."

"Mmm.  It's okay.  Thanks for letting me stay here."

A whiff of anxiety.  It's like a little dance on the inside of my stomach.  I think it's from him, but I'm not completely sure anymore.  My senses feel like they're doubled, but somehow melded together into a cohesive unit.

I try to fix this moment in my mind, because I know it can't last forever.  The patter of rain against the glass, the white gray light coming in through the window, the weight of the coverlet against my body.  Little strands that represent roads in a map of memory that all lead me toward Tsuzuki.  Any second, one of us will move to get up and it'll be over.

His free hand rises hesitantly, and he brushes away a stray strand of hair that's fallen on my face.  We look at each other, green meeting violet.  I touch the hand resting against my cheek, feeling his strong fingers as if they were my own.

His grip on me changes, almost imperceptibly, and he draws me up toward him.

Our lips meet.  His kiss is chastely sweet, his lips gently pressed against mine.

Mine, however, is more intense, as my arms twine around his neck, pulling him closer.

*******

To be continued…

Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei belongs to Matsushita Yoko.

Thanks to my prereaders: Cyrus Marriner, DWE, and RubyD.   Thanks to RubyD being an invaluable resource of YnM information (characters, continuity, chronology, etc.), DWE for all her support, and Cyrus for all his help and inspiration.  In addition, RubyD suggested the idea that Tsuzuki may not have been immediately allowed to work on cases (due to his mental stability) and Cyrus contributed the ideas of Terazuma's shadow, and Wakaba dying before the bomb hit.  Thank you guys!  It wouldn't be nearly as good without all your help!  ^_^

Author's notes:  
Timeline is post-Kyoto.  Continuity is a mixture of anime and manga up through volume 9 with my own random ideas thrown into the mix (with a few liberties taken).  There's a curry place in Los Angeles called the Curry House that has dishes along the same lines as those that Tsuzuki and Hisoka ate (curries and Japanese-style Italian pasta).  Dango (the way I've had them) is like little mochis on a stick with the fillings on the outside.  Onigri is a rice ball.  I picked the name "Sato" from a listing of common surnames found in various parts of Japan.  Umeboshi is a pickled plum that is extremely salty and sour.  Udon are thick wheat noodles. 

Sorry if it seems like an abrupt end, but this chapter's gone far, far longer than I thought it would.  ^^; The next chapter will include Enma's decision, and Muraki's assignment (hopefully).  I'm trying!

Behind the Scenes (note: In the chronology we worked out, we thought that it'd work best if Tatsumi died around 1934.  Ask D for any details.):  
[23:27] biggsdl3: I was looking at historic events that resulted in lots of deaths in 1934, and Mao's Long March is one of them.  
[23:28] Ruby StarD: *laughs at Muraki* That's right, wench, listen to Hajime-chan and wipe that up.  
[23:28] Ruby StarD: ^_^ Aw, I love humbled Muraki. I do.  
[23:29] evilasiangenius: bitchslapped into submission.  whee!  
[23:29] GenrouDocky: Shackled Muraki is pretty cool, as well.  
[23:29] evilasiangenius: remind me, and I'll do a bit with him and Tatsumi and bondage.  ;)  
[23:29] Ruby StarD: XD Go Terazuma.  
[23:29] GenrouDocky: ooo!  
[23:30] Ruby StarD: o.o!  
[23:30] GenrouDocky: Yay!  (I should be disturbed, but I'm not.)  
[23:30] GenrouDocky: oooh...I need to do a sumi-e of that  
[23:31] biggsdl3: Wow!  Nihon Iodine became the first to produce domestic aluminum in 1934!  Maybe Tatsumi died in a tragic aluminum accident right as he was on the verge of making the discovery for his company!  
[23:31] evilasiangenius: laugh  
[23:31] biggsdl3: EAG, I'm giving you good ideas here.  
[23:31] evilasiangenius: .  
[23:31] evilasiangenius: right.  
[23:31] evilasiangenius: they're brilliant!  
[23:31] evilasiangenius: a tragic aluminum accident...to this day, Tatsumi can't stand the sight of aluminum siding or trailer parks.  
[23:31] GenrouDocky: LAUGHS  
[23:31] GenrouDocky: ...  
[23:32] evilasiangenius: Tatsumi We thought it was the future *sniffle*  But it was our graves!  
[23:32] GenrouDocky: foil!  
[23:32] Ruby StarD: ...........*dies*  
[23:32] evilasiangenius: that's how you fight him.  You wrap him in foil.  
[23:32] evilasiangenius: he'll scream like a little girl.  or Hisoka.  
[23:32] biggsdl3: Yes.  Only aluminum is reflective and malleable enough to defeat his shadow powers.  
[23:33] Ruby StarD: "Hey, Tatsumi, want a coke?" "Is it in a can?" "Yes." "AH! Noooo!!"

Omake!  I had this scene in mind, but I never wrote it.  Here's the completely ridiculous version of that scene.  This is mostly from Cyrus.  Saji-san is the tailor.

If there is one thing that Muraki values, it's his freedom.

"Boxers or briefs?"  Saji-san asks.  Terazuma scowls and looks away, flustered.

"Eh?"

"Do you want boxers or briefs?"  Saji-san taps his display of undergarments.  

"I don't follow."

"Oh god."  Terazuma stalks off.

"This is underwear.  Which ones do you want?"

"Want?"  Muraki blinks.

"Pervert!"  Terazuma's temper snaps.  "CHANGE!"

Insert property damage here.  

(This is one reason why Muraki needed a nap after the visit to the tailor's.  He spent a good hour dodging Terazuma and trying not to get his ass kicked.)

Also we were trying to think up who would be the omnipotent narrator.  Here are the suggestions I can remember and a sample of how they would do it:

The Hakushaku:

"Oh, my dear, sweet Tsuzuki…if only I could…Terazuma!  What are you doing in here!  Shoo!  I'm trying to fantasize.  What, I'm supposed to be working here?  Fine, fine…I'll narrate Terazuma.  So Terazuma and Muraki did stuff.  With things.  Now, back to Tsuzuki, his violet eyes shone brightly as he slowly and sexily unbuttoned his shirt, starting with the top buttons…"

Saki:

"Let's see what my brother's up to today…Looks like he's in the shower.  We'll sneak a peek – never let it be said that I don't like to help out the readers.  Oh yeah.  Wet and naked!  Work it, Kazu-chan!"

Thanks for reading!  ^_^  C&C can be sent to cori_ohki@hotmail.com  Rainkitty: www.squidkitty.org/eag


	4. The Second Life, Part 2

Summary: Post Kyoto arc, anime + manga through volume 9. Enma's decision. Tsuzuki's relationship with Hisoka furthers while Muraki adjusts to life in the Meifu.  
Characters: Terazuma, Wakaba, Muraki, Oriya, Watari, Tatsumi, Hisoka, and Tsuzuki. 

  
The Second Life, part 2.

  
I'm here.

For the first time in my life, I'm in an embrace that I want to be in. Tsuzuki's hands clasp me with a firm but gentle grip. My heart's racing, and I can feel the heat in my cheeks. 

His warmth increases, bordering on fire. 

Is it possible to drown in fire?

It's almost too much. Almost. I don't know what to do other than to hold him as close as possible, as if somehow I can meld the two of us together like the way his feelings permeate every fiber of my being.

I never thought it could be like this, his lips pressed against mine, his tongue seeking me out hungrily.

I don't want this to ever end.

Outside, the rain continues falling.

*******

Terazuma is sitting on the couch in a pair of shorts and a loose t-shirt with a tangled blanket half-shoved underneath him. 

He's grumpy. Very, very grumpy. Last night, he slept on the couch. That in and of itself would have left him in a bad mood, but the weather makes it worse.

He hates the rain. The sound keeps him up all night, but that's the least of his worries. The moisture makes his Shikigami thrash with restlessness. He supposes that it's because of its fire nature. God knows the thing hates the idea of him swimming, much less the uncontrolled fall of rain. Thankfully, it's accustomed to the idea of him bathing regularly, or else there would be hell to pay.

On top of this, Terazuma feels like he's being too nice. He resolves to make Muraki sleep on the floor if Muraki gives him even the slightest reason to anger him. Terazuma then gets madder, because he realizes that he probably won't do that to Muraki, because he *is* too nice.

This is not turning out to be a good weekend.

Terazuma sighs, and decides that he really could use some tea. He stumbles into the kitchen blearily, and starts rummaging around for what he needs. If there's one thing about the modern era that he likes, it's those fancy air-pot water dispensers that keep water at the perfect temperature for making tea. Terazuma loves consumer electronics.

Terazuma wanders into the dining room with an empty mug and a pot of steeping tea. Someone's already beat him to it, though.

Of course, Terazuma thinks, who else? Muraki's already awake, sitting at the table with one of the more recent Shinigami policy manuals and a cup of hot water. He's wearing a light gray sweater over a white dress shirt, and a pair of dark gray pants. In his hand is a pen. He's taking notes on some loose sheets of paper. Terazuma can't tell exactly what he's writing, but the writing is very, very neat.

"Morning." Muraki looks up at Terazuma's greeting.

"Good morning, Terazuma-san." Muraki nods in acknowledgement. "Did you sleep well?"

"No." Terazuma scowls. Muraki begins to apologize, but Terazuma cuts him off. "It's fine, forget about it. It's not you. It's the rain. Keeps me up at night."

"Ah." Muraki nods, as Terazuma sits down, before returning to his notes.

"What's with the hot water?" Terazuma looks at Muraki quizzically.

"I couldn't find the tea," Muraki replies. "And I didn't want to wake you up." On the paper he circles a phrase, and then underlines it. Terazuma's wondering what he's up to.

"Right." Terazuma begins pouring himself some tea. It's just the way he likes it, not too strong, not too weak. "You want some of this?"

"Thank you." Muraki slides his cup forward.

"So how long have you been up?" Terazuma asks, as he pours the tea. Terazuma vaguely suspects that Muraki didn't sleep through the night.

"Only about an hour," Muraki replies, his writing hand pausing mid-sentence. "Since I've arrived in Meifu, I've had more sleep in one day than I've had in perhaps the last two or three years."

"What, you didn't sleep?"

"No, I slept. Only a few hours a night, usually. Never much more than that, I'm afraid."

"What kept you up?" Terazuma asks, before realizing what a potentially bad idea that question was. His lips tighten into a little frown.

"Work. Research. Tsuzuki. A variety of things, really," Muraki checks off points on his sheet of notes. "I had managed to keep myself busy."

"Yeah. Busy." Terazuma says with derision. He looks at Muraki, who's still scribbling quietly. "So, what are you doing? Studying?"

"Something like that," Muraki replies. "Ne, Terazuma-san. May I ask you a question?"

"Sure, go for it."

"I've seen three references to those robes that I was wearing yesterday, but nothing specific. What are they for?"

"They're for covering up your naked ass." 

"Eh?" Muraki blinks.

"Nothing from Chijou comes with you after you die. That's why we all start over from scratch – they give us everything we need. So that thing you were wearing, it's the first and last thing you'll wear here. Afterwards, it all goes back to the sea."

"Sea?"

"Yeah. Fancy metaphor for 'you get recycled somewhere once Enma's through with you.' Sea. It's in the documentation."

"All right." Muraki taps his pen against his notes. "I suppose that explains why I don't have my earrings anymore," he says thoughtfully.

"Earrings? You wore earrings?" Terazuma raises an eyebrow. "Well, if you want them back, you better get a shovel and start digging, because you won't get them here." Terazuma finishes the last of his tea, before standing up and taking his leave.

"Ah." Muraki's face is emotionless. 

Muraki sits at the table silently for a few minutes after Terazuma leaves. He's perfectly still, except for his hands. They tremble faintly.

Eventually, he finds his focus again, and writes down a few more words before setting the pen down. One of them is "Oriya."

*******

Somewhere in Chijou, there's a place that you've been before.

It's in Kyoto, and a storm's reckoning holds the horizon hostage, darkening the sky over the green tops of the trees that sway in the growing wind.

Oriya looks up. It's starting to rain. For a moment he stands as the drops coalesce around him, dampening the stone path beneath his sandaled feet. The rain fills his eyes, blurring his vision.

"You." Oriya says it to the wind. The rest is lost to silence. Thoughtfully, he raises his hand and stares at the loose black sleeve of his kimono slithering around his wrist, drops of rain darkening the silk.

A little maid clatters over with an umbrella, and hands it to him deferentially before running back inside. Oriya opens it, the opaque oiled paper unfolding with a snap, shielding him from the sky. It's painted with a sprinkle of delicate peonies. They're violet.

Oriya doesn't think it's fair anymore.

He goes inside without a word.

*******

"Hmm…Hajime and I only have two umbrellas…" Wakaba says to me, as she takes out two umbrellas from a closet. One's pink, and the other one's black. I imagine that I know which belongs to whom.

"Here, take this." Terazuma takes the black umbrella from Wakaba and slaps into my hand.

"Thank you," I reply. "But what about you?"

"Don't need it." Terazuma pulls on a long black trenchcoat, and tops it off with a slightly crumpled fedora. "I got a hat." He taps the rim of his hat, as if emphasizing the point.

"All right! Let's go!" Wakaba beams, as she steps through the door, umbrella in hand. She's wearing a bright yellow raincoat over her school uniform. It's quite appealing.

Today, we're going to the Summons Division for a little tour, while everyone is out of the office.

It's raining quite steadily now, as it has been since it started last night. We walk along the road that leads to the general administration office. It's chilly, the onset of autumn. Thankfully, Terazuma's offered me the use of one of his coats. It seems that the average Shinigami owns many of them. 

I'm starting to think that perhaps black is the uniform.

Wakaba hums as she walks along, dodging puddles with a twirl of her pink umbrella. Terazuma, on the other hand, looks to be as amused as a cat dipped in water, his shoulders hunched and tense while he makes his way through the rain. It pools on his hat and has darkened the fabric of the coat over his shoulders. He looks to be quite miserable.

Such a shame, really. I suppose I'll have to do something about that.

I wait for the right moment. It doesn't take too long.

"Here." I hand my umbrella to Terazuma who takes it automatically. Before anyone can react, I gently lift the pink umbrella out of Wakaba's hand, and hold it over the two of us.

She startles, but a moment later flushes a bright red as she realizes our proximity. I smile down at her.

"Ne, Wakaba-san, will you walk with me?" It's time to apply the usual charms and graces. If it's anything I know for certain, it's my ability to garner attention from members of both sexes. 

"S-s-sure, K-Kazutaka-san," she manages, as she nervously smoothes her dress with her hands.

"I couldn't stand to see Terazuma-san suffer so," I continue, blithely, as we stand with the rain tapping along the top of the umbrella above us. "It's really coming down."

Terazuma's standing with the umbrella in his hand. It's shaking hard. He's looking away, so I can't quite tell what he's thinking, but I'm sure I can guess.

I turn toward Wakaba, leaning down to her when I notice his attention is at the right place. I lift my hand to her face. "There's a raindrop." I brush my fingertips lightly against her flushed cheek. 

"M-m-Muraki-san!" Wakaba's eyes are wide with surprise. I lean down just a bit closer, all the while watching Terazuma out of the corner of my eye. He's dropped the umbrella, and is standing in the rain, his hands quivering.

That's about when all hell broke loose.

The next thing I know, I'm dodging gouts of fire, rain sizzling around me in great bursts of vapor. Water's getting into my eyes, and between that, the steam, and the fact that whatever Terazuma's become makes attacks from a high vantage point in the sky, its membranous wings keeping it aloft. I'm starting to believe I'll be barbequed, momentarily. It's a singularly strange reminder of how much I dislike yakitori.

Well, it seems as if I'm going to have to fight back. The wild hair of the long-maned lion is wholly untouched by the falling rain, as if existing in a dimension just slightly outside of the reality that we're in. My mind races as fast as my feet, as I try to think up something that could stop the raging beast, but really, there's nothing serious I can do unless I've got a circle to draw power from. Of course I don't, because I scrubbed it off of the back porch last night. 

This looks to be a bit of a problem.

"Hajime! Stop it! HAJIME!!!" Wakaba's voice cuts through with authority, as the massive form of the beast charges forth at me, its resounding roar a blast through the air, knocking me off my feet. Wakaba leaps out before me, ofuda in hand as the beast charges. At the very last second, with a resounding slap, she plants it firmly against its forehead.

A second later, Terazuma's sitting on the wet pavement, before us, thoroughly soaked through. He's also quite naked. Her ofuda flutters on his forehead, and he pulls it off, crumpling it in his hand.

"Hajime! What are you doing?" Wakaba demands, as she swiftly turns around to give Terazuma some privacy. 

"It's the rain," Terazuma says irritably. "I couldn't stop it from coming out."

"Did the rain make Kuro-sama want to bite his head off head too?" Wakaba points at me.

"Er…about that…" Terazuma looks embarrassed. He shakes his head, as if to get his bearings.

"Impressive." I say, with an arch of my eyebrow. I stand up, brushing myself off. So much for umbrellas – we're all quite wet now.

"Shut up, pervert." Terazuma scowls up at me, as he covers what remains of his dignity with his hands. He's well built, that one.

"I was referring to your transformation." I reply smoothly, giving him one last glance. 

"Right. Now stop looking so I can get dressed." Obediently, I comply, turning around.

After he's done, we continue walking toward the general administration building.

*******

It's strange to realize that nothing you've ever dreamt about can match reality. 

Tsuzuki's mouth has a hint of sweetness to it.

It's stranger to think that I've never really dreamt about this, because the possibility was so remote that it seemed a kindness to pretend that nothing could ever happen.

Tsuzuki's touch is gentle but awkward, fumbling at times, sure at others. It's exactly who he is.

So what makes me who I am? I'm starting to not know anymore. Sometimes I'm me. Sometimes I'm Tsuzuki. It's all sort of blurry.

Tsuzuki impatiently pulls his shirt off, looking a little sheepish when he realizes that in his haste, he's tangled himself up in his buttons. I grin, and help him untangle himself. The shirt goes flying like a little white cloud, coming to rest against the floor beyond my fiend of vision.

He leans down, folding me within his arms again, his lips seeking the sensitive flesh of my throat. His mouth his hot against me. My arms move around him, seeking to pull him close, to bridge that gap between us…

/Gap/.

My fingers twine into his dark hair. It's like silk sliding beneath my fingertips. Or is it someone's fingers through my hair?

/Slide/.

My breath comes in little gasps. His tongue slips down my throat hungrily. My tongue touches…

/Slip/. 

I can't tell who's feeling what anymore as I'm drowning in a sea of desire. I'm just a swimmer at the surface, looking down into the shadows of the deep water. The inky blackness only grows as my senses grow more captive to his touch. The darkness never seems to end…

And I'm getting dizzy looking down…

**

Fireflies. They're everywhere.

I've never seen this many before in my life. They fill the air around me, closing out the sky. It's like the stars surround me, flickering in and out of existence, signaling their glowing language of love.

But it's so dark here by myself.

In the black night full of stars, there's just me, and I'm all alone. But it's what's right.

After all, someone like me should have never exis…

**

I blink. Tsuzuki's staring at me, his hands tight around my shoulders. Little twinges of worry and fear dance along his fingers. 

"Tsuzuki?" I'm all muddled and mixed up. I look up at him in confusion, trying to shake off the strange feeling.

"Hisoka? Can you hear me?"

"Eh?" I blink. "Of course I can hear you. What are you doing?"

Tsuzuki sighs in relief, his grip relaxing. "For a moment there…for a moment…" Upset swirls through him like the drag of an undertow. "You blanked out."

"Oh…I don't know what happened," I reply, rubbing my fingers against my forehead, trying to figure out what really just happened in my mind. "I saw something. I guess maybe my empathy went out of control for a moment."

"What did you see?"

"Fireflies." I think to myself, the image coming more clear in my mind. "It was really dark. Tsuzuki, I…"

Tsuzki's feelings snap close like the locking of a case. The rejection is like a splash of cold water against my face. It effectively ends the conversation. He unwinds himself from me, rolling out of bed.

"Tsuzuki?" I don't think he's ever closed himself off to me, not like this before. I can barely sense his emotions.

"It's nothing." His voice is dull and emotionless as he leaves the room.

A moment later, I can hear the sound of the shower running.

I get up. The bed's cold without him.

I'm so damn sick of this power. It's really pissing me off. The thought that letting go of myself for just one moment could cause me to accidentally hurt Tsuzuki makes me think that maybe I really did deserve being locked up. Because then I couldn't hurt anyone. Especially him.

I hate being reminded of that. I hate it so much.

Better go home. Better to be in an empty apartment than wonder how much misery I'm causing him. And don't think that I'm just imagining it or exaggerating things because I can feel it radiating from him, even from the other room. At least if I'm home, I can lock myself away from the world and pretend that nothing exists past those four walls.

Reality doesn't match up to any dreams, I guess. But unlike dreams, you can't exactly opt out of it.

I don't need any more dreams. 

I grab my bag, and head out into the rain. 

I'm sorry, Tsuzuki.

*******

It just gets better and better. Terazuma shivers in the main hallway just outside of the Summons Division wing, totally soaked through. He's waiting for Watari to let them in because they lock the place up on the weekends and both he and Wakaba managed to forget their keys. Wakaba and Muraki look equally miserable, dripping little puddles onto the stone floor. The former makes Terazuma want to get a blanket for her. The latter makes Terazuma want to buy a gun.

Finally, Watari manages to make his way over to the door to let them in. 

"Hey!" Watari says brightly. As they enter, he does a double take at the sight of the bedraggled three.

"Yo." Terazuma raises his hand in greeting. Without another word, he makes his way through the office, heading toward the infirmary wing. 

"Ah, Wakaba-chan…what happened?" Watari asks as Terazuma returns with a pile of towels. He hands one to Wakaba, and tosses the other at Muraki's face. 

"Nothing." Terazuma says, while at the same time, Wakaba says "Just Kuro-chan."

"Oh, it's *that* nothing," Watari grins as his attention shifts to Muraki, who is hanging his coat up on a nearby chair. "Looks like we've got a newbie," Watari says with an excited gleam in his eye.

"Yeah," Terazuma replies, as he throws the towel around his shoulders, and begins rebuttoning the misaligned buttons on his shirt. "Hot off the grill. You want him, go nuts. Just be careful with this one." Terazuma says the last softly, the words meant only for Watari's hearing. "You of all people know what he was doing when he was alive." Terazuma gives Muraki a look that's tinged with suspicion.

"But he's one of us now." Watari blinks. "He's got a second chance."

"Not that crap again. First Kannuki, now you," Terazuma sighs. "Fine, you do whatever you want." Terazuma's voice returns to a normal volume. "I need a cigarette. Come on, Kannuki. I'll make you some tea." Terazuma stomps off into another room, Wakaba trailing behind him.

"So you're the famous Doctor Muraki," Watari looks at Muraki appraisingly, after the others have left. 

"The one and only." Muraki replies, as he runs the towel through his hair. When he's done, he starts dabbing at his clothes with it, soaking up some of the excess water.

"We've never been properly introduced," Watari says, extending his hand. "I'm Watari Yutaka, resident scientist extraordinaire! This is my sidekick and companion, 003." A tiny owl peeks out from behind Watari's head, and hops onto his shoulder.

"Charmed." Muraki shakes his hand.

"Let's go to my lab and talk, shall we? I've got something boiling up," Watari says, giving the door to his lab anxious looks, as if expecting something to happen.

"Don't drink anything he gives you," came Terazuma's voice from the other room.

"Hajime-chan!" Wakaba's voice follows.

Muraki seems like he's about to say something, but he pauses, and wordlessly follows Watari into his lab.

"All right!" Watari begins rummaging through a few stacks of paper. "I know it's here…I just got it yester…okay, here we go. No, that's not it…Sit, sit. There's a chair under that pile of books, you can just put those on the ground. Sorry it's so cold in here, I sort of had a little accident this morning…wah, these aren't the papers, where are they…"

Muraki sits down and looks at the room around him, with a mildly surprised look on his face. Dozens of beakers, in all shapes, sizes, colors, and varying grades of cleanliness are lined up on a counters that go around nearly the entire room, with the exception of one wall which is taken up by a bookcase and a filing cabinet. There is a massive table in the center of the room that is covered in notebooks, manila filing folders, and loose paper.

In addition, all the windows are open, making the room feel particularly cold. Muraki shivers a little bit.

"Ah, let me close the windows…I guess most of the smell's gone." Watari chatters on. "Oh, 003 – mind getting that top latch? It's sticking again." A miniscule owl hoots softly and flutters up to the latch. Muraki watches it curiously, as it lands on the window latch. With a few hops, it pushes the latch into the down position, and Watari's able to close the window.

"Thank you!" Watari waves up at 003. 003 flies down in a spiraling glide, coming to rest on a pile of books, before tucking its head back under its wing.

"Interesting creature. Does this mean that there was a 001 and a 002?" Muraki asks.

"No. Just 003." Watari says cheerfully. "Okay! I found it!" Watari pulls a file out from underneath a pile of papers. Precariously, it seems as though for a moment, the entire stack's about to fall, but at the very last second, it stabilizes itself. Watari's lab is like a delicately balanced ecosystem. 

Watari walks over toward Muraki, tucks the file under his arm, and begins moving books. A few moments later, another chair is revealed. Watari sits down, and opens the file while Muraki absently raises his hand to his face, as if to push up his glasses before realizing he's not wearing glasses anymore. He folds his hands in his lap.

Watari begins flipping through the file. "Ah, lucky day! I don't have to run any diagnostics! You must have gone through Enma himself for me to get this. Oh! That means more time to do my research!"

"Diagnostics?" Muraki asks.

"Sure, I usually give the newbies some tests, you know, the usual…a basic physical, bloodwork, DNA samples, MRI, CAT... Gives us some comparative data to work with if there's any problems in the future," Watari says, ticking off the points on his fingers. "It's just an expanded version of what they used to have. They add one for every new medical breakthrough in Chijou. It normally takes me hours and hours to process the data. Usually the only information we get is just a breakdown of the person's past, since the whole testing system's sort of a naturally occurring thing. But you must have gone through Enma's direct staff, so they included everything. I've only heard about that... Wah, even your ability summary! Luuuucky!" 

Muraki nods, taking in the rush of information. "Mind if I have a look?"

"Sure!" Watari hands over the file. Muraki begins leafing through it.

"So anyway, Muraki, has Terazuma explained any of the Shinigami powers to you?" 

"No, but I know of them. I've been going through the policy manuals," Muraki replies, as he continues going through the file. He pauses, momentarily on a page.

"Yeah, but that means you don't know how yet, do you?" Watari says, waggling his index finger at Muraki. "The manuals are one thing – application is a whole other story." 

Satisfied, Muraki hands the file back to Watari. "Application. Does this mean I get flying lessons?"

"Just ask Terazuma," Watari grins. "But not today, unless you want another soaking." 

Muraki nods. "I saw some codes listed next to my ability summary. Can you tell me what it means?"

"Eh? Oh, let me look." Watari searches through the file. "Ah ha! All right, let's see…seventy-three…" He shuffles through the pile of books next to his chair and digs out a battered looking booklet, which he opens and begins to compare with the file. "Hey, now that's a rare one. Looks like all the ones that are seventy-threes are strictly forbidden. The fifty-ones are contingent, and the elevens are review-only. Wow, I've never seen this many seventy-threes at the same time." Watari raises an eyebrow. "What exactly were you doing when you were alive?"

"I had my hobbies." 

Watari let out a low whistle. "You're lucky you've got all these other spells and summons that are okay to use, because otherwise we'd have to train you from the ground up. That wouldn't be pretty, either, since it looks like your power fundamentals are based on a completely different system from the usual kind around here."

"What's the usual system?" 

"Not counting Tatsumi, it's pretty much straight ofuda-based magic. You write your spells down or memorize them, and use the 'fuda as your focus. Very good and traditional stuff. Last year, I did some research on your powers after we got back from Kyoto because of the whole security breach thing, and it looks like yours is pretty much Western-based. So where'd you learn it?" Watari asks, sparkling with curiosity.

"The basics, I learned in New York, some time ago," Muraki replies, a bit hesitantly. "The rest is my own doing."

"That explains it! See, most of the stuff you're doing now is sort of this weird system of Western magic with a Japanese accent. It's got it's own flavor at this point. Pretty individualized stuff – most of the Shinigami here follow the same few paths, like Shikigami summons or ofuda. There's a few rarer ones, but most are all pretty much standard."

"I see." Muraki looks at the list. "What happens if I use any of these forbidden ones?" He taps the paper.

Watari winces. "Um. Bad things."

"How bad?" Muraki wonders.

"Well…you know, in ancient times, the role the ten kings was to refine and purify souls that had built up sins through their lives, right?"

"Yes, I've heard that legend."

"Does the phrase 'boiling lakes of blood' mean anything to you? Because they never got rid of those, even after we became a purely administrative unit."

"That…that's not so good." Muraki frowns.

"Nope. You really ought to memorize the forbidden list. Excuse me." Watari gets up, hands Muraki the file, and rushes over to a beaker that's quickly boiling over.

"I will."

"Wah!" Watari ducks as something in his lab explodes with a puff of smoke. "Sorry about that, 003! 003? Are you okay?!"

*******

The Shinigami division office is quite unimpressive, for such powerful caretakers of the afterlife. After my meeting with Watari, we went around the office for a grand tour. It's surprisingly small and looks to verge on poverty, given the age of the office equipment and the look of the building upkeep. 

It's a sad contrast to even the teaching hospital where I had interned when I was younger – even there, they had managed to keep up little amenities such as aquariums. Though I suppose those are standard to any medical facility. It will definitely be an adjustment, not working in a medical or research capacity.

Regardless, eventually, it came time for us to brave the outdoors again. Fortunately for Terazuma, Watari managed to equip him with a proper umbrella, so the morning's little experiment need no repeat. I'm not wholly certain whether it was my own doing that led him to transform, or if it was completely the fault of the rain as the official story goes, but I'll certainly keep it in mind not to anger him unduly. 

As long as he gives me no reason to, that is. However, next time, I'll definitely be prepared. 

Eye for an eye, as the saying goes. Ironic coming from one such as me. After all, I managed to lose my right eye once already. Ah well.

Outside, the rain continues, the distant roll of thunder filling the air as we trudge through the puddles. 

We're nearly at Terazuma and Wakaba's residence. The rain comes down in sheets, obscuring the landscape, reducing objects into silhouettes.

That's when I see him. 

*******

My hands.

In the rain that obscures my vision, catching on my eyelashes, getting into my eyes, I can barely see them. They're much too small, much too thin. Like the rest of me. I'm permanently a child, and I guess that it extends to my personality too.

I don't change. The world around me does. But not me.

Just rain. Think about the rain instead. It helps the grass grow. And no matter how much you trim it down or cut it down, the grass will keep growing, as long as there's sometimes rain.

If the grass can be grass, then why can't I be me?

I guess it's because there's no rain for me to help me grow. I just stay the same.

Don't get me wrong. I want to be a better person. I want to be a person who's worthy. A person who loves. But instead, I just watch the rain. Instead, I see fireflies that I shouldn't. Instead, I live with the endless loop of memory that takes me from the cell beneath the staircase to the pain on Tsuzuki's face.

I'm so tired.

Footsteps. Don't care. Just go away, please. I've closed up my senses to the world around me. I can't even tell if it's human anymore, much less what it's feeling. I just want this to stop.

Suddenly, the rain around me stops.

I look up, confused. And I'd run or scream or something, if I wasn't so shocked that I was frozen in place.

He's here. Muraki. And he's holding an umbrella over me. I'm too freaked out to even shake. The reality of his existence is like a slap in the face, knocking me out of my thoughts. The only thing I can think now is that I had better start getting my legs to work soon, or else…or…

"Here." He looks at me cautiously, as if wondering what my next move is. He shoves the umbrella at me, and I take it with no small amount of surprise.

"Wha…?" My mouth isn't working right.

"You'll catch cold that way." He straightens up, and walks briskly off. The brisk walk turns into a jog. I'm starting to think that I should have probed his mind or something, because if I didn't know better, he looked a little nervous.

A minute later, Terazuma and Wakaba come walking up.

"Hisoka-kun!" Wakaba comes flying over toward me. "What are you doing out here by yourself? You're soaked!"

"I-I-I…" I think I might have mentioned that the link between my brain and my mouth seems to have been fatally damaged in the last few moments.

"You're coming with us, young man!" Wakaba says firmly. Behind her, I can see Terazuma shrug.

"Ah…okay." I say hesitantly, allowing her to drag me along.

*******

"Just wonderful. My house is turning into a shelter for stray Shinigami," Terazuma mumbles around his cigarette. He opens his closet door, and starts rummaging. Before long, he comes out with a few items of clothes. 

"All right kids. Dry clothes time." Terazuma says blandly as he walks out toward the entry, and hands a shirt and some pants to Hisoka. "Bathroom's down the hall next to my room. Gimme the wet stuff when you're done, and we'll toss it in the dryer or something. You too, Muraki."

Muraki looks at Hisoka suspiciously. Hisoka looks at Muraki suspiciously. They both appear to not want to be the first to go down the hall.

"You first." Muraki and Hisoka both say at the same time. They blink.

Terazuma scowls. "You're getting my floor wet…"

Awkwardly, as if trying very hard not to run into each other or look at each other, Hisoka and Muraki make their way down the hall. Muraki shuts the door to Terazuma's room quickly, just as Hisoka closes the bathroom door.

Terazuma looks heavenward, and mumbles something unintelligible under his breath before he lights up his cigarette. He wanders over to the living room and sits down on the sofa.

It's just too damn weird, Terazuma thinks. Too damn weird. He shakes his head.

Hisoka's the first to return. Terazuma's clothes are ridiculously large on him, to the point where he's basically omitted the pants, and has belted the oversized shirt around his waist. The shirt reaches down to nearly his knees. It almost looks like a dress. The overly long sleeves are rolled up. 

"Don't even say it," Hisoka grimaces, as he walks over to where Terazuma is sitting. "I feel ridiculous." 

"It's not that bad," Terazuma says, a little uncomfortably. He's all too aware of what happened last time with Hisoka. He tries thinking of other things. Like when Wakaba will be done getting cleaned up and come downstairs. They should make lunch.

"Where should I put this?" Hisoka asks, holding up a pile of completely wet clothes. 

"Here, lemme take those," Terazuma says, and divests Hisoka of his wet gear. Terazuma walks back down the hall toward the laundry room, and pauses at his bedroom door. He knocks.

"Yo, Muraki. Got the clothes for the dryer?" 

"One moment." Muraki's voice is muffled. He opens the door, and hands Terazuma the wet clothing. He's wearing the black suit again, this time with a dark blue shirt. He looks at Hisoka for a moment as if trying to come to a decision, and then decides to go back into Terazuma's room, closing the door behind him.

"Oh man." Hisoka blinks, once Terazuma's returned to his previous seat. "Tatsumi's gonna be pissed when he sees that." 

"Yeah, no kidding." Terazuma says. "We should take bets to see how long murder-boy here is going to last. Tatsumi's clothes…" Terazuma shakes his head. "That Tatsumi is gonna blow his stack when he sees him."

"I was at the tailor's with Tsuzuki the same day Tatsumi was ordering those." Hisoka shivers. "I think he ordered it to replace a set that was messed up when that thing Watari was doing last week caught on fire and Tatsumi had to put it out."

"Heh, I remember that." Terazuma grins. He takes a long drag from his cigarette. His expression turns curious. "So hey, Kurosaki, why's that idiot partner of yours letting you wander around in the rain like that? I thought I heard that Tatsumi told him, no buts about it, to be making sure you take care of yourself." Terazuma's lips move downward in a little frown.

"Ah, that? Uh…" Hisoka looks away, uncomfortably. "I…I just thought I'd take a walk."

"Right." Terazuma "In the rain. Without an umbrella." Terazuma pauses for a moment, thinking. "Something wrong?" His voice has a hint of gentleness with the last words.

"N-no. Everything's fine. I just wasn't thinking."

"Yeah. That's been happening a lot today." Terazuma stubs out his cigarette into an ashtray. "Do me a favor, next time you see that useless partner of yours, tell him if he doesn't watch out for you, I'll personally go and kick his ass myself. You can't let your partner do dumb shit like that, all right? Take it from me, I've been working with Wakaba for more than twice as long as you've been alive and dead. You gotta watch out for each other."

"S-sure. I'll remember that." Hisoka says, looking down at his bare feet.

Terazuma's about to say more, but he decides against it. He stands up.

"All right, I'll be back. Gotta kick the kid out of my room so I can change. Got a little messed up earlier," Terazuma says by way of explanation.

"Okay." Hisoka fidgets uncomfortably when Terazuma leaves the room.

Moments later, Muraki comes and sits down across from Hisoka. It makes Hisoka nearly shake from fear. What he's not noticing, however, is that Muraki's sitting as far from Hisoka as physically possible while still being in the same room.

"Ah…Kurosaki-kun, is it?" Muraki says, uncomfortably. 

"Y-yeah." Hisoka replies. Hisoka is somewhere in between wanting to run, and wanting to slap himself for stuttering so much today.

Muraki taps out a cigarette, and gestures. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"G-go right for it." Hisoka forces himself not to shrink away. Don't show fear. He can smell fear.

"Thank you." Muraki lights up the cigarette, and takes a long drag. They sit like that for a minute, completely silent.

Hisoka lets his senses out just a little, to see if he can figure out what Muraki's feeling.

"Nervous?" He almost says the word out loud before he can control himself.

Muraki's anxiety comes off in little waves as he calmly smokes his cigarette, ignoring Hisoka studiously. It's nearly as good of an acting job as anything Tsuzuki can pull off, but not nearly good enough to fool an empath.

Hisoka thinks this is the oddest day he's ever had since he arrived in Meifu. That day was pretty strange too. He met a floating chicken who became his mentor and showed him the ropes. 

Hisoka isn't sure what to think anymore. He looks perplexed.

Muraki casually smokes his cigarette, mentally counting to himself in English to keep appearing calm. He's looking at anything but Hisoka.

It's just too damn weird.

*******

The rest of the weekend passed without incident. After we had lunch and my clothes were dried, I went back to my apartment, and slept for most of the weekend. I guess we overestimated Muraki. At lunch, he seemed to alternate between being his old self, minus the threats part, and something a whole lot more fragile. I still can't quite believe it.

Damn, if I had known I could humble him like this, I should have tried killing him a whole lot earlier. Could have saved me a whole lot of trouble.

I guess they're right about the whole dying thing giving you a new perspective. I wouldn't know, myself. It didn't affect me as much as some of the others. Maybe it's because I was too young to know better, or because I had been so messed up before I died that anything was better than what my life had been like up to that point.

I guess it's because I never really lived until I died.

Oh well. I'm not going to make myself crazy trying to figure it out. I've got enough problems on my plate. But I can say that I think Terazuma's got Muraki sufficiently under his thumb to keep him out of Tsuzuki's way. Which is kind of neat, if you think about it. I mean, Terazuma can be scary with a capital S when he wants to be. Even worse than when Tsuzuki's really mad, but not as bad as Tatsumi. 

Heh, that reminds me. I'm going to have to go in early on Monday just to see the look on Tatsumi's face when he rips Muraki a new one. That suit thing is going to be hysterical.

Well, at least, until Muraki gets assigned, it looks like Terazuma's going to keep a tight leash on him. Which would mean that he'd definitely be out of our range. Depending on the assignment, he could be almost permanently out-of-office.

That's what I'm hoping for. I'm going to start crossing every finger on my hand for that one. I should see if there's a shrine around here; I'll go pray for that every day if I have to.

So now it's Monday morning. It's way too early, and I don't feel like getting up, but I should, since my alarm's about to go off any minute.

Outside it's already insanely sunny. That's Meifu weather for you.

Tap tap. I rub my eyes, and roll out of bed. There's someone knocking on my door.

"Who the hell…" I mutter. Bet it's the landlord, wanting to do some repairs or something. I heard someone hammering a few minutes earlier, which is what woke me up.

It's Tsuzuki. 

"Hey?" I blink. 

"Hi." He says sheepishly. "Can I come in?"

"Sure." I'm still blinking. This can't be real. I mean, it's just past six-thirty in the morning on a Monday, and Tsuzuki's awake and on my doorstep. The unbelievable part is the awake part.

Actually, that's not totally true. He looks thrashed, like he hasn't slept in a few days. Jolts of guilt start dancing around my stomach.

"I have to get ready for work." I say dumbly. "But you can come in."

"All right." He takes off his shoes and sits down in the living room. I wander off to take a quick shower, brush my teeth, and get dressed. It's possibly the fastest shower in the history of mankind.

Fifteen minutes later, I come back. My hair's still wet, and strands of it are clinging to my neck. It's sort of annoying. I run my hand along my neck, trying to unstuck my hair.

"Sorry about that, Tsuzuki," I say when I return. "You want to go now?"

"Okay." Tsuzuki's misery is like a stone sinking in the ocean. It makes me feel awful. I shrink into myself to close off his feelings from my own. It makes things a little more bearable. Just a little.

"How was your weekend?" Tsuzuki asks me, as I lock the door to my apartment.

"Weird." We walk down the stairs and out the building.

"What happened?" He winces at the words. I pretend not to notice.

"I ran into Muraki. At Terazuma and Wakaba's place."

"Muraki?!" Tsuzuki nearly jumps when I say the words. His jolt of worry and concern nearly knocks me over.

"Calm down, baka. Terazuma's got him under control." I say irritably, my heart still pounding a little from his shock. "Actually, I think he's a little bit afraid of me. Probably since I did kill him and all."

"Muraki? Afraid?" Tsuzuki blinks. "Is that possible?"

"Yeah. I don't think you can fake that either."

"That's…strange." Tsuzuki says, pondering the thought. "Maybe that means you'll be safe.

"We'll see. I'm more worried about you." 

We walk quietly for a few minutes.

"Tsuzuki, I-" I say, while at the same time, he says, "Hisoka, I-"

We look at each other. We've stopped near a park. A bird sings brightly in the tree above us. The shadows of the leaves dance around our feet.

"Tsuzuki. I-I'm sorry about earlier." I say, miserably, before he can continue. I don't want to know what he's got to say. All I can think of are the worst possibilities. "I didn't mean to pry." 

"No…it's all right, Hisoka." Tsuzuki says, looking at his feet. "I shouldn't have…shouldn't have done that. Just walk away, that is. You've told me yourself that your powers can pick up things that you don't mean to see."

"That doesn't mean I like what I am." I shove my hands in my pockets.

"You can't be anything other than what you are. Just like I can't help being what I am." Tsuzuki reaches out, and pulls me into his arms. I look up, startled. The sunlight glints off the green leaves of the tree above me.

"I'm sorry Hisoka." He buries his face in my shoulder. His breath is hot though the fabric of my shirt. "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings." Then the unspoken words, as clear to me as if he's said it out loud: I'm sorry that I'm me.

"Don't be sorry, baka." I whisper. "Don't. If I didn't like what you are, I wouldn't be here," I say, answering his silent apology. My arms go around him, at first, with some hesitation. But then it's a tight embrace.

His lips meet mine, stealing my breath away.

When we get to the office, everything's already in a frenzy of commotion. We pass Watari, skidding down the hall to meet the messenger. Apparently this week's directive got changed sometime over the weekend, and Enma's messenger is back with new orders. 

Well, this is going to be a fun week. Just the logistics that it takes to process new orders can be a nightmare to set up, from what I've heard. I'm glad I'm not Tatsumi or Konoe.

As we get closer to the office, I can hear Terazuma's voice. And man, does he sound pissed. Uh oh.

"You're being unreasonable, Tatsumi." 

"Unreasonable? I have nothing but the welfare of my coworkers in mind."

"Coworkers? You mean, Tsuzuki. I'm telling you that you can't just shuffle people around like this without shit coming down from high. I got work to do today, and I'm not gonna sit around at home all day babysitting while you figure out how to keep Tsuzuki and Muraki apart from each other. They're just gonna have to deal with it, and get over it."

"The man is dangerous," Tatsumi's voice grows cold. "We can't just let him stay here."

"Reality check. He came here straight through Enma. You try pulling shit with Enma, Enma will make sure you suffer. You're just going to have to get over yourself."

"Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?" The anger coming out of the office is starting to get close to spontaneous combustion levels. I'm thinking maybe I should have called in sick or something. 

"No, but I'm reminding you that you *have* a job, Tatsumi. No matter what your personal feelings are about this, the reality is that he's gonna be working here, and we're all just going to have to deal with that. Even if it's…oh, you two. Great. The one day I come in early to try to avoid running into you, and you're actually here early. I swear, I'm being punished for something I did in a past life."

Tsuzuki and Terazuma scowl at each other threateningly as we walk in. I grab Tsuzuki's arm preemptively as Tatsumi unobtrusively places himself slightly between the two.

"Back off, Terazuma," Tsuzuki says. "Tatsumi's right, Muraki's too dangerous."

"Oh, like you're any better?" Terazuma irritably pulls out his cigarettes and taps one out. He's about to light it, but Tatsumi gives him a look, and Terazuma stuffs the lighter back into his pocket. 

Tsuzuki flinches. "What I am has nothing to do with it."

"Yeah. Well, you know, you're just going to have to stop worrying so damn much, and get used to him, because I get the feeling he isn't gonna be leaving any time soon. He's got Enma's mark, or did you not know that?"

"Enma's…" Tsuzuki looks confused. "But that's…"

"Tsuzuki. Maybe you and Hisoka would like the day off?" Tatsumi starts, trying to defuse the situation.

That's when Muraki and Wakaba walk in. Between the two, they're holding four cups of hot tea, one in each hand. 

The surprise level in the room suddenly overwhelms the anger. 

"Ah! Good morning, Tsuzuki-chan!" Wakaba beams. "We're making tea. Want some?"

"Uh, okay." Tsuzuki says, blinking. He hasn't taken his eyes of Muraki. Same goes for Muraki, he's watching Tsuzuki as if he's not sure what's going on.

Me, I'm just confused. The emotion level in this room is like a loud staticky fuzz in the air. It's so turned up so high and is so convoluted that it's making me dizzy.

Wakaba walks over and hands one mug of tea to Tsuzuki, and the other to Terazuma. Muraki hands her the others and she passes one to Tatsumi and me.

"All right, that means we need to make three more cups. Come on, Kazutaka-san." Muraki gives Tsuzuki one last bewildered look, and walks off obediently after Wakaba.

Did I just see that? 

The others are stunned into silence as well, particularly Tatsumi.

"How…what did you do?" Tatsumi looks at Terazuma.

"We came to an understanding." Terazuma says casually. "Too bad I wasn't assigned those cases, I could have slapped him around something serious."

Tsuzuki twitches with anger.

Suddenly, the door opens. Watari comes flying in with a bundle of papers.

"Hey guys!" Watari waves the bundle in his hands. "You'll never guess what came through!" On top of the scroll of paper that makes up the directive, there's a letter.

Watari hands me the letter, and hands Tatsumi the directive. It's just one sheet of paper, folded over and sealed with a dab of wax. It's addressed to me.

My hands shake. It's Enma's decision. His stamp seal is imprinted next to the wax seal, archaic squiggles of ancient writing in red ink.

Quickly, I open it, breaking the seal and unfolding the heavy paper.

"What's it say?" Tsuzuki asks, nervously.

"Wow. I mean, wow." I have to sit down. "Holy shit." I stumble into a nearby chair. 

Tsuzuki plucks the paper out of my hands, and reads out loud. 'No action will be taken at this time. Kurosaki Hisoka is to continue in his current capacity until further notice. Witness by my name and seal. The Great King Enma, foremost among the ten kings, ruler of the…'" Tsuzuki's voice trails off. "Hisoka! That means…that means…"

"That means I can stay your partner." I grin. 

Tsuzuki cheers, and leans down to hug me, forgetting about the others. I hug him back, happy to have the weight of waiting off of my chest. 

But we've forgotten about Tatsumi.

"Oh. No. This is impossible." Tatsumi shakes his head, putting his hand over his eyes as if he can blot out what he just saw. "Oh, god, not this."

Watari leans over Tatsumi, one hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay, Tatsumi? What's it say?"

Tatsumi gives out a deep sigh. "I've been assigned a partner."

Um, shit? I get the feeling I know where this is going.

Muraki and Wakaba walk back in at that moment, this time with more tea.

"Here you go," Wakaba says, to Watari. "Did we miss anything?"

"You!" Tatsumi just got into scary-bad mode. Oh man, Muraki's gonna die. Er…again.

"Me?" Muraki looks confused.

"No, Tatsumi, don't!" Watari lunges at Tatsumi, restraining him as pages of Enma's missive goes flying. One lands on the ground before me. I pick it up.

"'Overflow paperwork from Enmacho Division One will no longer be routed to Summons Division, and now will be routed to Enmacho Division Three. Summons Division will work on investigative cases exclusively only until further notice.'" I skim down the rest, past a bunch of technical details until a name catches my eye. No way. This is insane.

"'Tatsumi Seiichirou is hereby relieved of his position as secretary to Summons Division, and will begin investigation of cases in his rightful district of Tokyo, block five. Tokyo cases will no longer go into overflow and will be handled exclusively by the Shinigami of district of Tokyo. Beginning this day, 10th month 2, Heisei era 11, Muraki Kazutaka is hereby assigned to district of Tokyo, block five as Tatsumi Seiichirou's partner.'"

Um. That doesn't sound like a good idea. I'm starting to wonder if Enma actually researches any of this, or maybe he just doesn't care. Or maybe Enma's secretary's got a really warped sense of humor.

"Is that my suit?!" 

Already, Terazuma and Watari are stepping in to try to keep Tatsumi from killing Muraki.

Oh man, this is going to be a crazy week.

*******

It's been one week and one day.

A week ago, he was called to Tokyo to identify the body.

In his left hand, Oriya holds a pair of earrings. They're like crystallized drops of blood. They're the only thing that's left of Muraki. As befitting of Buddhist rites, Muraki's body has been cremated. 

Oriya listens to the drone of the priest chanting the sutra. The heavy scent of sandalwood incense fills the air.

It smells like death. Oriya closes his eyes.

There's more people than he expected would come. Muraki was well-liked in life by his peers and colleagues. Most of the people here are medical staffers or university researchers from Tokyo, Kyoto, and other places where Muraki had traveled to as a medical research coordinator in the last few years, after he was promoted into management. A few women choke back sobs or sniffle into their handkerchiefs.

Muraki had no living relatives to handle his affairs. Oriya took care of it all.

Oriya shifts uncomfortably in his black suit. He hasn't had to wear a suit in years, but it's what's expected of him. He yearns to return to Kyoto where he can watch the leaves change color in silence. Instead, he must stay in Tokyo for the rest of the week to finish up Muraki's affairs. Oriya's the legal executor of his estate. 

The priest chants on.

A year. It's been almost a year since Oriya saw Muraki alive for the last time. Since Shion University's research building mysteriously burned down.

Oriya knew he would never see Muraki alive again, after he left that night. Muraki said as much. He just didn't realize it'd be so soon. In some ways, Oriya has hoped that he would never have to do this again, that somehow Muraki would outlive him. 

Twice is already too much in one lifetime.

Oriya's face is expressionless as he grips the earrings tightly. The metal pierces his palm, a trickle of blood melding with the scarlet gemstones. He doesn't wince at the flash of pain.

Finally, the priest is finished. Oriya takes the lead in offering incense to the deceased. He does it smoothly, with a certain measured grace, without hesitation, bowing solemnly to Muraki's picture. Muraki's portrait looks thoughtfully on.

  
The joss stick's thin wooden handle is smeared with his blood as he places it in the sand-filled urn. But it's not noticeable, because it's already red. The smoke trails through the air like a gossamer ribbon of white, and for a moment, Oriya is choked by the scent.

Oriya quietly takes his leave. He'll wait outside while they nail the coffin shut. The only thing inside is a box of Muraki's ashes, wrapped in white silk. Oriya had planned on sending his earrings with him, but can't seem to let them go.

They'll go with him back to Kyoto.

Oriya takes deep breaths, once he goes outside. Outside, it's grown cold, autumn's breath filling the air. He looks up. The sky's an iron gray, obscured by clouds. He looks down. His palm is sticky with blood.

Oriya sighs.

He walks out into the temple courtyard. The first leaves of autumn are beginning their dizzying descent, stained crimson and gold. His footsteps are crisp against the brittle leaves. 

He's alone, but for a solitary man in black who sits on the other side of the courtyard, smoking a cigarette. He's got his back turned to Oriya.

Oriya says nothing, his eyes on the falling leaves about him. It's not as beautiful as Kyoto, but it speaks to him. He closes his eyes, counting off the things that he must do, the people he must speak to. The list grows smaller every day. Once it's done, he can go home.

When he opens his eyes, he's not alone. But he knew that.

"You must be Mibu-san." The man in black's come up to him. Oriya thinks he looks familiar, but can't seem to place him. He's wearing a black suit over a black shirt, rakish in style, something very modern with sleek lines. 

"Yes, that's right." Oriya says, as he searches his memory, trying to decipher who the man is.

The man rakes a hand through his black hair, cut in that oddly asymmetrical style that has been very popular in the last few years, long in parts, short in others, all together wholly uneven, yet with the overall feeling of balance. It's something that only the Japanese could have thought of.

"Nice to meet you. You're my little brother's friend, correct?" 

"Muraki had no broth…" Oriya's mouth goes slack. "No brother. No…" His eyes grow wide. "Saki!" The word's like a hiss of air.

"That'd be me. Shidou Saki. Pleased to meet you." Saki smiles sharply.

"I thought…he…" Oriya's hand trembles. He remembers hearing about Saki. Once, Muraki showed him a picture. But that was a boy. This is a man.

"Eh, old news." Saki shrugs. "I heard my brother died though. Is that true?"

"Yes." Oriya's eyes narrow suspiciously, as he wonders who this person really is.

"This means that you're the executor of his estate, correct?"

"It's possible." Oriya says, furtively.

"Oh good. Well, I'll be seeing you later this week then. We have a lot to catch up on, you and I. Don't worry about an address or anything; I know where Kazu-chan's apartment is. Ja." Saki walks off with a wave of his hand. He disappears down the big steps of the temple.

Oriya shivers as the cold autumn wind picks up strength, scattering the leaves around him in a swirl of motion, twining his long dark hair though its bitter fingers. He never thought he'd meet another dead man in his life.

Oriya's hand is bleeding again.

*******

To be continued...

Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei belongs to Matsushita Yoko.

Thanks to my prereaders: Danceswithelvis, Cyrus Marriner, and Ruby D. You guys rock. Thank you for all your input and help. DWE came up with Muraki's "impressive" line. 

Thanks also to you, the reader. If you've followed this fic this far, I'm really, really grateful for your interest/patience, because this thing is so damn long. Thank you, thank you, thank you! *___* Especially for all your kind words and support. ^_^

Author's notes: Continuity is a mix of anime and manga up to volume 9. Timeline based loosely on the manga publication dates (thanks to Theria's website). I'm writing by the seat of my pants here, but it looks like I've got to a point where the plot will pick up. Chapter 5 is already in the works.

Next chapter: A routine case in Tokyo opens the gate. Tatsumi learns how to deal with his new partner, Terazuma continues his role as Muraki's mentor, and Oriya holds the key that Saki is looking for. 

Behind the scenes:  
GenrouDocky: Hmm...perhaps they should look into an ofuda that prevents the empathic nature of Hisoka from picking up everything?  
EvilAsianGenius: heh it's like a condom for his feelings. XD  
GenrouDocky: *chokes* Oh lord...yes!  
EvilAsianGenius: that...that's just frightening.   
GenrouDocky: Isn't it? Omake?  
EvilAsianGenius: heheheh  
GenrouDocky: Hisoka Hold your horses...I need to slip my ofuda on.  
EvilAsianGenius: XD I wonder if Muraki would know how to block it. :o  
GenrouDocky: O.O He's been poking holes in Hisoka's ofuda?  
GenrouDocky: That's just wrong!  
EvilAsianGenius: it's so wrong. I love it.

  
Omake!

What if Terazuma didn't tell Muraki not to drink anything Watari offered him…?

Presenting…

The Path to the King of Practical Jokers, Professor Watari

"All right!" Watari begins rummaging through a few stacks of paper. "I know it's here…I just got it yester…okay, here we go. No, that's not it…Sit, sit. There's a chair under that pile of books, you can just put those on the ground…wah, my potion…wait just a moment please, I need to add something…"

Muraki looks around the lab. His attention falls upon a carelessly unlocked glass case, filled to the brim with absently labeled bottles. He studies the potions lined up in the case curiously. None of the bottles are labeled with anything more than a date.

"What's this?" Muraki gestures toward the multi-colored bottles.

"Eh?" Watari is titrating a solution into another solution. His inattention causes him to add one drop too many, causing his potion to turn a murky green color. "WAH! Ruined! Noooooooo!"

"Ah, my apologies." Muraki says absently, without really meaning it.

"That's all right," Watari says, as he sniffles, staring at the now vile green concoction. He pouts for a moment before remembering Muraki's question.

"Oh right, your question…those are my previous experiments," Watari says sadly.

"What are you experimenting with?" Muraki asks.

"A potion to change…er…actually, I'm testing different flavors." Watari says, a little gleam coming into his eyes. "Want to help me taste something?"

"All right." Muraki shrugs. Even as a human, no amount of poison could hurt him seriously, and he doesn't think that as a Shinigami, it could be worse.

Besides, what's the worst that can happen?

Watari gleefully rummages through his potion cabinet for a moment, before pulling out a bottle. It's pink and fizzes happily when Watari shakes it. Watari finds a clean beaker and pours out a measure.

"All right, let's try this one." Watari hands the beaker to Muraki.

"What's it supposed to taste like?" Muraki asks, swirling the liquid around. It continues fizzing.

"That's for you to tell me," Watari replies, and then, "You're the control study."

"Ah, right." Muraki shrugs, and downs the potion in one shot.

Spicy!

*******

Is it possible to kill a Shinigami?

Really. Is it possible? Because the urge to kill is definitely upon me.

"This isn't funny." I say through gritted teeth. My voice is ridiculously high, coming out in an undignified squeak. 

"Awwww! Muraki-chan's blushing!" Wakaba looms down, crouching before me. Suddenly, I'm trapped in her arms. 

It…it's a huggle. I've only heard of such things.

How incredibly degrading.

"Ah!" I exclaim unintentionally, as she gives me a big squeeze, my arms flailing about. Around me, the other Shinigami snicker.

"Well, it's a good thing someone kept those kid's clothes," Tatsumi stifles a smile behind his hand. "Otherwise we'd have had a naked Muraki on our hands."

Terazuma laughs. "Hey kid," he says, looking down at me. "Better watch where those hands of yours are going if you don't want to get a thumping." He leans down to ruffle my hair playfully as Wakaba lets me go.

He ruffled. My hair.

"This is too degrading!" I brush at my hair with my hands. "You're cruel!" My normally calm demeanor is completely shattered.

"Not really. You want me to thwap you instead?" Terazuma looks down, amused.

"N…no." I pout. Pout. I'm pouting. This is…this is insane. I've gone insane. My body's that of a child. I'm wearing a little white t-shirt with a picture of a gray bunny on the front, and white shorts. They're…really short. 

And the bunny is very cute. Oh god. 

Stupid potion. No snuzzle poopyhead potion!

Wait, that's not how I think. What in the world…

"You really should have known better than to interrupt Watari when he's experimenting," Tatsumi says coolly. "If you manage to catch him at the right time it can be very hazardous to your health." Tatsumi pauses, adjusting his glasses. "And dignity."

"I didn't know." Tears are now coming into my eyes. Tears! I feel a sniffle coming on.

A moment later, the door opens. I can't see around these desks to know who's here, but I can hear Watari's voice. And that of two girls.

"Hey, you think I'm cruel?" Terazuma grins down at me. "Well, guess what kid, your luck's about to change."

"What are you…" I manage to get out, before he picks me up, hooking his hands under my arms and plopping me down on the bare desktop.

"Yuma, Saya…this is Muraki. He'll be working with us from now on." Tatsumi says with a smile, reaching out to pat me on the head.

"WAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!" 

"KAWAIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!"

It's quite possibly the most chilling thing I've ever heard in my life.

Oh gods, they're coming right for me.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

C&C can be sent to cori_ohki@hotmail.com Rainkitty: www.squidkitty.org/eag


	5. The True Death, Part 1

Summary: A routine case in Tokyo opens the gate. Tatsumi learns how to deal with his new partner, Terazuma and Wakaba join the new team in Tokyo, and Oriya holds the key that Saki is looking for. 

The True Death, Part 1

That's right. Shidou Saki. It's nice to meet you.

Age 36. Single (perpetually, unfortunately). Height: 185 cm (6'1", for you Americans). Blood type: B. Black hair, dark brown eyes (very blandly Japanese). Date of birth: 12/03/1964. Favorite color: violet. Favorite food: Chocolate donuts with sprinkles or sukiyaki – depends on my mood.

Current motto: /Tsuki ni muragumo, hana ni arashi/ – "Clouds over the moon, storm over the blossoms." It means that misfortune waits just around the corner when you're happiest.

So, you never thought you'd meet me, right?

I know. You want to hear about Kazutaka. Everyone does. My brother's an interesting guy. Smart as hell, handsome, good sense of humor. He was a genuinely nice kid growing up, if you looked past all the twitchy weirdness. It's too bad his mother was crazy. I'm surprised that he's not utterly insane. Well, okay. More insane than he is now. 

Eh…was. More insane than he *was*. I keep forgetting he's dead. 

That reminds me of something else I forgot. This is important. I'm supposed to tell you what my interests are.

Interests: Genetic research with a specialization in human cloning.

What? Don't look at me like that. This isn't science fiction. I'm very serious about my work. I learned from the best. Professor Satomi from Shion University in Kyoto. If he was German, they'd call him Herr Professor Doctor – he's got that kind of status. The man was tenured so firmly that it would have taken an act of God to get him fired, much less reprimanded. His research made so much damn money that they built him his own wing and looked the other way once he started on his more morally questionable projects.

Satomi was like a father to me. He told me a long time ago that he saved me because he felt sorry for me, that he wanted to nurture and protect my genius. He was an old friend of the Muraki family, and knew them well. Or as well as anyone was ever allowed to know them.

When I was a kid, one of the little minions of the Muraki family managed to shoot me. I nearly died. Thank God that Kazutaka was too frightened at the time to do something intelligent like check my pulse to make sure I was dead, because all they did was bundle me into Satomi's car and hope that Satomi would 'take care' of me. 

I don't really remember that part though. I passed out before then. Getting shot through the back will do that. But you know what? Satomi did take care of me. Satomi took care of me for years.

A few months after the incident, after I got better, I was secretly bundled out of the country. Did all my education in Los Angeles, in the United States. BA and Ph.D. from UCLA. It's really a shame that these Americans have such a serious bias against human cloning experiments, because I could have done some amazing research there. Our laboratory had some brilliant graduate students. Including myself, that is.

About three or four years ago, I decided to return to the motherland. So I applied for a transfer at my job at Amgen, and got moved from their headquarters in Thousand Oaks to their Tokyo branch. I hadn't been back to Japan since I left the country at age 15. I guessed that it was safe now because as an adult, Kazutaka wouldn't recognize me if he tripped over me. That actually almost happened once because we were in the same hospital at the same time.

I'm fairly anonymous. Well, I am good looking. But I'm not like him.

He sticks out like a sore thumb, as the Americans would say. You can't not see him, especially in a place like Japan where the natural hair color is black or dark brown. Even with all those gothic lolita types dying their hair all sorts of wild colors these days, you can't miss him. 

Kazutaka shines like the clouds over the moon.

Hey, it's been nice talking to you. You're a good listener. We'll have to continue this some other time. There are a few other things I want to tell you about Kazutaka, but it's going to have to wait, because I made an appointment to go meet with someone.

Well, that's not exactly true. I said I'd go see them, so I decided to meet them tonight at seven. To see if they want to go out to dinner.

Yes, it's like a hot date. He's very good looking.

Don't look so surprised. It's not like I'm going to try to get into his pants or something. Not on the first date. Good Lord. Besides, he usually wears kimonos.

Anyhow, I'll speak with you later. It's time for me to go meet the blossom.

*******

White orchids. The petals caress Oriya's face as he holds the crackling bouquet gently in his arms, minute drops of stray water dampening his black suit. He can't wait to get back to the apartment, because he's been meeting with lawyers for the last five hours. All he wants to do is change and have a quiet meal by himself before going to bed.

He's not sure why he bought this single delicate spray of orchids, virginal blossoms with a blood red heart whose veins seep into the white. Oriya almost never buys flowers. Not that he doesn't love them – they inhabit Oriya's garden and are arranged tastefully in vases around the various rooms of Kokakurou. Blossoms grown in the sun by one's own hand, in his opinion, are far preferable to those impersonal beauties found in the refrigerated cases of florists.

But these seemed to speak to him. Their water-splashed petals hold a particular frailty to them that feels just right. Their fragrance is as faint as the shadow of a ghost.

Oriya feels fragile these days.

***

Finally he's back. The apartment is silent, but for his movements. Of course, Muraki's cat is nowhere to be seen. It's always hiding. 

The movers will come at the end of the week to take away the furniture. It will all be donated, these elegant antiques. Oriya has been idly contemplating keeping the beautiful Chinese horseshoe back chair in Muraki's office. It's easily three hundred years old.

Unfortunately with the cat there is to be no decision; it's going back with him to Kokakurou. It's easily three years old.

Asato-neko. What a silly name for a cat.

All by Muraki's will.

Oriya closes the door behind him, and toes off his shoes at the entry. He walks into the bare kitchen, and sets about putting the flowers in water, busying himself with the mundane task. He's thinking about what he's been doing all day, which is tracking down all the various accounts that Muraki had money in. There are safety-deposit boxes scattered in banks throughout the country, even a handful of Europe, that need to be tallied and accounted for.

Oriya's inherited it all, but he wants none of it.

He'd rather have Muraki back. The bastard might have been a bastard after all was said and done, but still, they had an understanding. Muraki knew him, and he knew Muraki.

The thought makes Oriya frown. The flowers drip water onto the smooth granite counter. He leaves it there to dry, walking out toward the living room.

Oriya unbuttons, and pulls off his suit jacket in one smooth movement. He folds it over the back of a chair, and just as he's about to loosen his hair from its business-like bindings, there's a knock at the door. 

Five firm taps. Oriya blinks, unsettled by the break in routine. He wasn't expecting anyone.

Oriya looks at the clock on the wall. Seven.

He walks back, and opens the door.

"Good evening." It's Saki. He's dressed in a manner that makes Oriya think of him as dangerously classy. Saki is wearing a black suit over a blood red shirt that looks to be silk. Over that, a long flowing coat that's so deeply scarlet that it reminds Oriya of dead rose petals. Or dried blood. 

It's such an unusual reminder of Muraki that for a moment, Oriya's breath catches before he can control the emotion.

Exhale. 

"It's you," Oriya says, as if he expected Saki all along. Oriya's eyes harden almost imperceptibly.

"In the flesh," Saki smiles. "I thought that maybe we can continue our conversation?"

"Perhaps." Oriya says, inconspicuously settling himself where Saki cannot pass him to enter the apartment.

"What about over dinner? I bet you've had a long day and don't want to cook. I'll take you out." Saki says casually, draping himself along the doorframe. "Let me do something for you in return, since you took care of my brother for all those years."

Oriya thinks about it for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the flowers. Saki continues to stand by patiently.

"That's acceptable," Oriya says, finally, after he decides Saki's waited long enough.

Saki smiles.

***

Oriya is pleasantly surprised. 

Everything is exactly right and perfectly ordered. They're at an elegant yet modest little restaurant that serves interestingly eclectic French-Japanese fusion cuisine. The food is delicious and aesthetically appealing, arranged fancifully like little works of art.

"Should it be Shidou-san?" Oriya asks politely, as he sets his fork and knife down. "Or perhaps Dr. Shidou would be more apt?" He watches Saki closely.

"Just Saki."

"Then please call me Oriya." Oriya notices Saki smiling. He used to wonder, occasionally out loud, whether there could be anyone in the world that smiled more than Muraki. Well, now he knew. "Tell me, Saki, how did you manage to find this place?" 

"I pay attention." Saki says, pleased. "In a week or two, this place will be the most fashionable restaurant in Tokyo. The cooks have been working hard to perfect their menu, and we've hit them just when they've reached the height of their level. Word's already spreading. See the man over there in the green coat?" Saki's eyes flicker to the left without moving his head. "He's a food critic with one of the main newspapers in town. Once he gives the word, God himself won't be able to get a reservation."

"Interesting." Oriya says, looking over to the man in green who's making notes on a little pad of paper.

"I notice you're in the restaurant business yourself," Saki says conversationally. "How is Kokakurou doing these days?"

"Fine," Oriya says, picking up his glass of wine. He swirls it twice, counter-clockwise, before taking a sip. "Business is as usual."

"Mmm, I hear you have a lot of traffic from the political world," Saki says, picking up his own glass. He takes a sip himself. "Some say that more than half of the members of Parliament have darkened your doorstep at one point or another, not to mention heads of state." 

"The rumors are exaggerations," Oriya says modestly.

"Are they?" Saki says, leaving the question open. "Say, tell me, how did you know I was a doctor?"

"I asked." Oriya looks at his glass of wine absently. It's a pale gold that catches the low light.

"Oh?" Saki says, his attention piqued. "Who?"

"Just a friend." Oriya looks at Saki pleasantly. "How was Los Angeles?"

"I love the weather. I think once we're deep into winter in Tokyo, I'll have to go back for a week or two," Saki says, his eyes gleaming.

"That must be nice," Oriya says, allowing a hint of wistfulness to tinge his tone. He watches Saki closely, paying attention to every nuance in his voice, every change of expression. "I hear the campus branch of the University of California in that city has some exceptional architecture."

"Definitely. I very much enjoyed it," Saki replies. "Kyoto too has some very fine architecture." Saki's expression reveals nothing.

"Kyoto is a classical beauty," Oriya agrees. "So lovely this time of year."

"Painted scarlet, like the poems say," Saki says. "Although, I hear there was a terrible accident last autumn at the university. The newspaper said that a laboratory burned down."

"A great loss," Oriya notes. "It was a very expensive wing to build."

"It's a shame. But you attended university in Tokyo, so you must not have missed it much when it burned down," Saki continues. "Weren't you and Kazutaka in the same class?"

"Yes, we were. He's my elder by only a few weeks," Oriya replies. 

"A New Year's child," Saki says. "What's that like? I bet you used to tease Muraki about him being technically a year older than you for about a month."

"Never," Oriya says, a hint of a smile forming along the side of his mouth. 

"Did you ever finish your degree in physics, Oriya-san?" Saki asks.

"Oh, I never got around to it," Oriya hides his surprise well. "I had other things I had to do."

"It's a shame. I think you would have made a great scientist," Saki replies. "Weren't you getting your doctorate when you had to leave?"

"I chose to leave," Oriya says, a little stiffly.

"It's too bad about your parents," Saki says.

"I can say the same for you. Was it hard, being so young?" Oriya counters.

"Yes, it was," Saki says. His eyes narrow minutely. "Afterwards, I had no one. You at least had Kazutaka to help you handle things. He was always there for you when you needed him, wasn't he?"

"Yes, and now he's dead. What do you want?" Oriya says, finally. He's feeling like he's lost this round, because Saki managed to provoke him.

"Nothing, really. Just your company at dinner," Saki folds the cloth napkin, and sets it on the table. He puts his hands on the edge of the table, and leans toward Oriya conspiratorially. Oriya doesn't flinch as Saki draws almost uncomfortably close.

"Now, what do you want for dessert?" Saki asks, his voice edging toward a sensual whisper. "They make their own crepes here."

***

The next morning, Oriya calls Kokakurou and sends for his katana.

Afterwards, he hangs up the phone and rests in the horseshoe back chair, feeling the smooth curved ends of its arms underneath his hands. He looks at the wall before the desk. Muraki's office is surprisingly bare, austere in style, nothing but a bookcase, a desk, this chair, and a wall scroll that hangs on the wall before the desk.

It's very small and modest, indeterminately ancient, yet without the commentary and stamp seals that Oriya has long associated with old calligraphy. It's signed with a name that could be either male or female. Oriya is fairly certain it's Chinese in origin.

The touch of the ancient brush was sure, following through each flowing stroke without hesitation. It speaks of a true spirit, of strength and harmony.

Just one word:

Completion.

Oriya reflects on the meaning in silence.

As he sits, the cat lands with a soft patter onto the desk, jumping down from its hiding place in Muraki's bookshelf. It's the first time in over a week that he's seen the cat. Oriya doesn't know where it hides; other than that food disappears at a regular rate and the litter box needs cleaning, one wouldn't have known it existed. Even that link is tenuous – it's all taken care of by a hired service that comes daily. 

The cat is completely gray, but for a touch of white on its nose. It cautiously approaches Oriya.

Oriya reaches out its hand, and the cat sniffs it delicately.

"Is it all right, Asato-neko?" Oriya's voice is soft, barely parting the silence. "May we be friends?" The cat hesitates momentarily, but then nudges its head against his hand.

Oriya lets his fingers trail along the smooth fur. 

To think that Muraki would have done the same. Oriya sighs. It brings to mind the brother.

After he returned from the funeral, Oriya had made discreet inquiries. It wasn't easy, nor was it cheap, but eventually he was able to find the vaguest hint of a lead and follow it through. What he found was quite interesting.

"Does that make him American-Japanese, or Japanese-American?" Oriya wonders aloud to the cat. Asato-neko purrs into his touch, long whiskers brushing Oriya's palm.

Saki unsettles Oriya in ways that Oriya could never have imagined. Superficially, it seems as though there's nothing of the pale brother in him – he's raven haired with dark brown eyes, he doesn't wear glasses, and his skin's slightly tanned from the touch of the bright American sunlight. But up close, the details mattered – his eyes have the same shape as Muraki's, and so too is the shape of his face similar. They both have something of that strange humor that's like being high in the sky above the storm clouds where it's frighteningly sunny while below, lightning slams into the rain-soaked ground.

Oriya doesn't know what to make of it. 

His instincts tell him to push Saki as far away from him as possible. Reason dictates the same. He knows Saki is dangerous. 

He thinks that Saki wants something. Something that only Oriya can provide. But Oriya doesn't know what it could be. 

Revenge would be futile – Muraki was already dead.

So what did the man want? Oriya ponders the possibilities as his fingers move through the cat's thick fur.

As if on cue, the phone rings.

Oriya stares at it cautiously. No one should be calling this line – he's been conducting most of the matters through his business cell phone.

He picks it up.

"Muraki residence, this is Mibu."

"Hello Oriya." It's Saki.

*******

I'm glad you're still here. I'm sorry I had to leave in a rush last time. I had to get changed before my big date, you know.

Oh, how did it work out? Fine, just fine. I think you might even know him, now that I think about it. Mibu Oriya, of Kyoto. Sole surviving heir of the Mibu family. They've owned a luxurious traditional restaurant for the last several generations. As far as I can tell, it's definitely as far back as Meiji in the records, but the locals say it's older. There you go, the difference between paper and memory.

Today, I thought I'd let you in on a little secret. It's just between you and me. Please don't tell Oriya I told you this. Because it's about him, and I think he'd be put off if I told anyone. You won't tell him, will you? 

Good.

A few years back, when I returned to Japan, I did a little research about my brother. That's when I looked up Oriya. It seemed as if there was something more to the whole story than met the eye, when I looked at all the facts. I'm not certain what it was – just a feeling, I think. Call it instinct.

It's great what a few hours in front of microfiche can do to reveal things about people that they'd never think that you could find out.

Oriya was…let's see, what year was that…yes, when he was about sixteen or seventeen, there was an incident. It seemed to me like his parents paid the right people the right money to cover up the story, but still, at least a few things leaked out in the regular press. That was enough for me to find what I needed. I've got the file at home in my apartment – the particulars are…well…I won't speak too much of it.

Suffice to say, it looks like young Mibu-kun was on his way home one day from school when some former government official took off with him at gunpoint. He was gone for about a week before they could manage to put together the ransom. A harsh blow against Kokakurou – it was a disgruntled 'guest' that had been banned for something he did to one of the maids. Quite brutal…poor girl – it didn't make national headline news, but definitely cost the man his position in Parliament. 

But you know, the strange thing is as far as I can tell the ransom wasn't paid out in money. 

After that, there aren't very many records. The only notable one I can think of involves money paid out to some unnamed physician who came by the Mibu residence once a week for about seven, eight months. His files, unfortunately, have been destroyed.

It's interesting how an event like that can change you. Before that, Oriya's school pictures showed a very normal looking young man. Handsome, of course, just as he is now, but with neat short-cropped hair.

After that, it seems like he grew his hair out. In every picture, his hair is progressively longer. Apparently Oriya also became very serious about kendo too – he participated in a college tournament where he broke someone's arm. They say it was an accident. Of course, he wouldn't have meant it now, would he?

Oriya is such an…interesting man. I called him earlier. We're going to have dinner again tonight.

I hope he likes Italian food.

*******

"This is impossible." Tatsumi crosses his arms. He's scowling. "You cannot expect me to do this."

"Tatsumi, you know the budget better than any of us…" Konoe gestures conciliatorily, trying to calm Tatsumi down. "A room for two costs only a fraction more than two rooms."

"I will…I will pay out of my own pocket first before I will share a room with that man," Tatsumi states with a note of finality.

"Don't make me do this, Tatsumi…" Konoe pleads, "Just be reasonable and do what's right…"

"Right? What's right would be to put this man's shadow through his own heart! Don't talk to me about what's right!" Tatsumi's anger is making the shadows around the room quiver violently.

"Fine. Then as the chief of this division, I'm ordering you to follow protocol. You're sharing a room. The matter is settled." Konoe says, authority lending credence to his words. Then, more meekly, "…If it's all right with you."

"That…that's just fine." Tatsumi says, his voice suddenly pleasant. Frighteningly so. "Thank you for your input, chief. We will depart for Tokyo immediately."

Konoe breathes a sigh of relief Tatsumi turns to leave his office. His eye catches the movement of Tatsumi's shadow as Tatsumi walks out the door. It does a little twitchy dance beneath his feet right before he crosses the threshold and closes the door shut behind him.

This makes Konoe shiver. A lot.

***

"Wah…lucky!" Wakaba beams. "You're going to Tokyo? I wish I could go…" She leans against Tatsumi's desk, now in the general office. It's Wednesday afternoon, and Tatsumi's already been moved out of his tiny office annex near the Chief's and into the general room where all the other divisions have their desks. 

"I'll bring you back something nice, Wakaba-chan, I promise." Tatsumi says with a forced smile. "That is, once my new partner decides to make an appearance. Ah, speak of the devil." There's a whole lot more emphasis placed on the last word than necessary. Tatsumi's eyes follow Muraki and Terazuma's entrance. Between the two of them, they're carrying three bags. 

"Three? We're not going on vacation. This case isn't to last more than ten days," Tatsumi raises an eyebrow. Muraki scowls back.

"Why don't you…" Muraki starts.

"Eh, forgot to tell you," Terazuma says, cutting off Muraki. He walks up to Tatsumi's desk, and sets two bags down with a clunk. "Looks like you guys are getting some company. We're going to Tokyo, Kannuki."

"Really! Oh, wow!" Wakaba claps her hands with a little hop of joy. "This is great! And Hajime brought me my travel bag too! Wai!! Thank you thank you thank you!" Terazuma looks slightly embarrassed, a faint flush of pink coming to his cheeks, mostly obscured by the marks of his Shikigami. He hides it by looking down, digging his hands into his pockets as if to search for a cigarette.

"Ah, right. I forgot about that." Tatsumi adjusts his glasses. "'For the first case, the mentor must accompany the new Shinigami,'" he quotes. "I suppose you've got the extra room reserved?" He and Terazuma fall into a discussion on logistics.

"Did you bring everything you need?" Wakaba asks Muraki.

"I think so." Muraki holds up the small piece of luggage. "Mostly a few changes of clothing and the manual." 

"Don't worry – we don't need much." Wakaba smiles. "Shinigami always travel light."

"I noticed you were already packed. But you didn't know we were going…?" Muraki says, absently, his attention captured mainly by his surveillance of Terazuma and Tatsumi.

"Every Shinigami has a travel bag – that's for when we have to go to Chijou at the last minute. This means we don't have to waste time packing and can leave right away," Wakaba explains, as she picks up her bag. She opens it, and pulls out a package of gum. "Want some? It's peach." 

"No thank you." Muraki says. He watches Tatsumi thoughtfully. "I was under the impression that Tatsumi knows everything. Why didn't he mention that you and Terazuma would be coming with us?"

"Tatsumi's situation was different, so that's probably why he forgot," Wakaba explains to Muraki. "You see, his mentor was also his first…"

"Now that everyone is assembled," Tatsumi raises his voice slightly, effectively cutting off all conversation, "it's time for us to go."

Wakaba raises her hand. "All right! Fourth and fifth division are now beginning their big Tokyo adventure!" And then, to Muraki, "This is the fun part. Just hold my hand and…"

"Nah, I can handle this," Terazuma says, stepping in. "Here." Terazuma grabs Muraki by the wrist. "Now tap your heels together three times, and say there's no place like home."

"Uh…" Muraki blinks.

"Hajime, that's not how it works!" Wakaba laughs while Tatsumi stifles a snicker.

"Heh, just kidding." Terazuma grins rakishly. "It's actually a spell. You studied it, right?"

"Of course."

"Well then, mister magic, let's get going." Terazuma keeps his hand clasped on Muraki's arm. 

A moment later, the four are gone.

***

They arrive in Tokyo, in a secluded part of a park. Above, the afternoon sun lazily filters through the scarlet and gold treetops.

"Mm, good choice," Terazuma says, letting Muraki go. "Where are we?"

"Just a little park northwest of the city center," Muraki says, straightening his rumpled sleeve. "I thought that this would be more appropriate than suddenly appearing in the middle of Shinjuku."

"…Which wouldn't be a problem if you knew the right technique," Tatsumi adds.

"Right." Muraki makes the logical decision to shut his mouth before he can say more. 

"Um…where's the hotel?" Wakaba asks before more can be said. "Let's get this stuff put away and we'll go get some ice cream!" 

"Sounds good. You paying?" Terazuma says with a grin.

"Yep!" Wakaba replies.

"Great. So why don't we do this," Terazuma suggests. "If you guys don't mind, can you take the bags and stuff to the rooms? I'll take the kid around the park for a stroll, see if we need to work some bugs out in his training." Muraki suppresses a scowl, turning his attention as if to look at the autumn trees above.

"That's fine with me," Tatsumi says, as the bags switch hands. "Let's meet in an hour at the rooms."

***

"Ne, Tatsumi-san," Wakaba says, once they're on their way. "You don't like him very much, do you?"

"This is business," Tatsumi says stiffly. "Nothing more."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean it should only be business," Wakaba says. "Tatsumi-san's older than me, so you know what it's like when partners don't trust each other. Remember when that boy from division eight was killed?"

"Of course. June 1951. He and his partner both went for the demon at the same time, and one of them didn't make it." Tatsumi says. "I fail to see the point."

"The point is, they didn't trust each other to protect each other," Wakaba says, her tone turning thoughtful. They cross the street. "So it killed one of them because they weren't trying to help each other. They were just focused on their own goals instead of thinking about their partner too."

"So?" Tatsumi says, as they walk into the hotel. It's only about a block or two from the park "If he dies, it's not my problem."

Wakaba's about to say more, but they're at the check-in counter.

***

"Good. Now let me see you fly up to that branch up there." Terazuma stands with one thumb hooked in his belt, looking up toward Muraki, his hand shading his eyes. Muraki moves swiftly, touching the branch before he makes his way down.

"Looking good." Terazuma nods in approval. "Notice how everything feels heavier?"

"Yes," Muraki says, dusting off his hands. "It was easier to do this in Meifu." Muraki's been practicing various Shinigami-related abilities since he's adjusted. The other morning, while he was in the shower, he even managed to cut himself to see how quickly it would heal. The marks disappeared faster than the blood swirling down the drain. Muraki is planning on taking some time to buy a watch with a stopwatch function so that he can time it properly the next chance he gets to try it. Waterproof too.

"That's because reality makes this place heavier," Terazuma explains. "I don't know all the technical details – you gotta ask Watari about all that. But the way I learned it, Chijou's the real. Meifu's the mirror image. The mirror image is 'lighter.' Things are more flexible, magic works better. Chijou, you're going against a lot of constraints, so things feel…'heavier.'" Terazuma gestures vaguely with his hands. "It's hard to explain."

"I think I understand," Muraki says. "I can sense there's a difference."

A bird flits up to the branch that Muraki just touched, stealing their attention as it darts through the leaves, chasing a moth. The moth gets away.

"You've been awfully good these last few days, Muraki." Terazuma says, after a few minutes of silence. "Haven't tried anything stupid like pissing me off. Kept your mouth shut when Tatsumi gives you shit. Didn't even say anything when I call you 'kid' in front of the others."

Muraki's eyes harden just a little at Terazuma's last words. "I'll do as I'm told." Muraki says, his voice tight with tension. "I've been reminded that more than once since I woke up." 

"That's right." Terazuma says, as he taps out a cigarette. "Want one?" He offers, tucking the cigarette between his lips. 

"Thank you." Terazuma extends the pack toward Muraki, who pulls one out. Terazuma lights Muraki's, and then his own.

"But you know, as long as you behave – that means following the rules, no harassing Tsuzuki or Kurosaki, and doing your job – you don't need to put up with shit from anyone." Terazuma's Shikigami settles happily as the smoke touches his lungs. Terazuma exhales. "Even me."

"I'll keep that in mind," Muraki says.

They stand in silence, smoking. A breeze picks up a little, scattering the little puffs of cigarette smoke into the wind.

"One thing though," Terazuma says. He stubs his cigarette out against the bottom of his shoe. "What I said to you about the whole taking shit thing. Just remember, as long as I'm babysitting, you *will* put up with my shit," Terazuma grins. "Now let's go meet Kannuki. I've got mint chocolate chip on my mind, and I wanna to do something about it."

"Understood."

***

Later, after dinner, Tatsumi sits at the little table in the hotel room with a stack of files before him. They've got three cases that need to be resolved by the end of next week, but they're all very routine and he thinks they can do it in half the time or less, easy. The hardest part about these cases is access – all of them involve people who have slipped into comas and died, leaving their physical bodies alive behind them, hooked up to various life-support mechanisms. Their job is two-fold: to resolve the status of the still-living bodies, and to find the confused souls and guide them to their proper rest. It's all very low profile; these are the kind of jobs that the Shinigami usually take care of.

It's usually nothing as exciting as chasing down serial killers with occult powers.

Tatsumi looks over at the said serial killer with occult powers in question. Muraki is sitting across the room on his bed (his, because Tatsumi would never sleep on it now that Muraki's touched it), drawing up lists of possible places that the bodies of the missing souls could be, based on the time and place of death and Muraki's knowledge of the hospitals of Tokyo. It, Tatsumi thinks begrudgingly, is about the only thing that Muraki's been useful for.

Muraki looks up, as if sensing that Tatsumi is staring. "Yes?"

"Nothing." Tatsumi looks back down at his files. "Actually, I'd like to know if you've made any progress."

"I finished a half hour ago," Muraki says smugly.

Tatsumi looks at him suspiciously. "Then what have you been doing?

"Calculations."

"Care to elaborate?" Tatsumi's tone suggests that lack of details would be hazardous to one's health. Muraki's eyes narrow slightly.

"I'm working on adjusting some of my spells so they fall within accepted parameters," Muraki says, after a long pause. He taps his fingers against his notebook. "As many have a strongly mathematical base, the numbers need to be recalculated accordingly."

Tatsumi and Muraki glare at each other for a long minute, as if trying to make the other back down. Finally, Muraki looks away.

"I'd like a breakdown of your findings, if you're done," Tatsumi says coolly. 

Muraki catches himself on the verge of a scowl, before taking a deep breath. He starts flipping through his notebook, searching for the right page. Muraki absently raises his hand to adjust his glasses. They're new. He feels more comfortable with them on. He holds up the notebook, hiding his face from Tatsumi.

"Case one." His voice is bland with professionalism. "Age 89. Stroke victim on the Marunouchi line through Shinjuku. Probable admission in the International Catholic Hospital in Shinjuku. Case two. Age 34. Attempted suicide. Probable admission in the Japan Red Cross Medical Center in Shibuya, only three blocks from the site. Case three. Age 54. Car accident in Chiyoda, near the Diet building. Probable initial admission in the Imperial Clinic." Muraki sets the notebook down, and makes a quick note with his pen, before continuing. 

"However, this last one could be in either the International Catholic Hospital or St. Luke's International Hospital in Chou. The Imperial Clinic wouldn't have the facilities, and the family history suggests that they would be inclined toward a Catholic established hospital. I will have to make calls in the morning to find out for certain," Muraki says.

"Good." Tatsumi nods in tacit approval. "Give me the numbers and I'll call tomorrow morning."

Muraki frowns. "I think that given my experience in the medical field, it would be best to leave that element to me."

Tatsumi raises an eyebrow. "How well do you know the hospital staff in these hospitals?"

"Not well at all," Muraki counters.

"How well do they know you? Unless young white-haired doctors from a well-known family line of doctors is the norm around town," Tatsumi states.

"I…I suppose my reputation's preceded me more than once," Muraki concedes.

"Tomorrow, I will make the appropriate calls. You will follow me where we go, and stay invisible to mortal eyes. You will shadow me and guide me when appropriate. Unless you can somehow manage to not run into someone in the hospitals who would recognize you," Tatsumi says, adjusting his glasses. "You do realize you're dead, right?"

Muraki scowls. There's not much he can say against that logic.

"I'll work something out," Muraki manages, looking away.

There's a long and tense silence.

"It's getting late," Tatsumi says finally. "Go to bed. I want to get started early tomorrow."

"All right." Muraki's hand trembles as he sets his notebook down.

***

Tatsumi can't sleep. He knows Muraki is still awake. His breathing gives it away.

The room is awash in shadows. Tatsumi isn't uneasy – he's got the advantage here. No matter what Muraki does, if anything, he can counter it without any trouble. After all, at the height of Muraki's powers Tatsumi was able to force him to retreat. Now that his wings have been clipped, Muraki is definitely no threat to Tatsumi.

What bothers Tatsumi is that after so many years, he's been assigned a new partner.

Tatsumi remembers his first partner. When he first met Sato, it was the moment he woke up in Meifu – he had nearly fallen right into Sato's arms as he appeared. Sato had nearly killed Tatsumi before he realized what had happened.

Sato was stern and cold, initially unapproachable. Tatsumi recalls likening Sato to a winter blizzard in Hokkaido, because underneath his rigid sense of order and control, he was a furious storm waiting to be unleashed. It was unwise to say much around Sato; it was suicide to seriously anger him. All Tatsumi did for the first year was file papers, mostly in Meifu, until Sato decided that he was ready for a case. It wasn't the standard procedure, but that never bothered Sato who seemed to make it a point to try to cross authority at every possible turn. In the end, even Enma himself allowed Sato to do as he pleased.

But then, somewhere along the lines, Sato changed. Or maybe Tatsumi himself did; Tatsumi still isn't certain about how things progressed. All he knew was that one day, it seemed their partnership was just business as usual and the next, they were closer than Tatsumi had ever been to anyone before in his existence.

Being Sato's partner was completely reasonable and Tatsumi handled it well. But being Sato's lover was an entirely different thing. In that Sato was, as he was in everything – terrifyingly intense. Tatsumi never knew what to expect; Sato was unpredictable and demanding, controlling every aspect of their relationship. No matter what Tatsumi wanted out of it, no matter how Tatsumi felt, Tatsumi couldn't pull away even when he tried. Tatsumi was utterly ensnared.

The whole affair had left its marks on Tatsumi. Especially when suddenly without warning, Sato retired, saying that he didn't want to be around Tatsumi anymore. Following Sato's last day, they never spoke again, even though Tatsumi knows where Sato lives in Meifu – after all, he nearly lived there for almost a decade.

After that, Tatsumi didn't want another partner. He still doesn't.

Muraki is completely still, but Tatsumi can hear his quiet breaths. They're relaxed, but they're not the kind of breaths that sound like sleep. Tatsumi knows this because of Sato.

Because of Sato, Tatsumi had Tsuzuki transferred after only three months. They were getting too close. Tatsumi didn't want that; he couldn't stand the thought of being hurt again, or worse – hurting Tsuzuki. Tatsumi even took a position as the department secretary, so he wouldn't have to face Tokyo alone. But even that isn't an option anymore.

On a certain level, Tatsumi thinks this is probably the safest partner that he'll have – one who he definitely won't like. One he doesn't want to be friends with, and who doesn't like him in return. He'll make sure this continues. Besides, Tatsumi cannot forgive Muraki for what Muraki did to Tsuzuki. 

But part of him is afraid.

The other day, Tatsumi saw Muraki reading a book at the office. Muraki didn't know Tatsumi was there – he was too engrossed in what he was doing. That slight hint of cruelty in the smile on Muraki's lips, the set of his eyes as he scanned the page. For a brief moment, it reminded Tatsumi of someone else. It was so disturbing that he had to leave the room.

Tatsumi is not happy with this arrangement. 

Tatsumi closes his eyes with a little sigh. After a while, he does fall asleep.

Muraki, on the other hand, is still awake.

***

They're riding the eastbound train on the Marunouchi line. As Tatsumi promised, it's early. About 4 A.M., to be precise. At this hour, there are only a handful of scattered people. They're in a car by themselves. 

"Sleepy." Wakaba curls up on one of the subway seats. Her eyes close as she snuggles into her coat. Terazuma stands to one side of her, leaning against the window and Muraki sits on the other side, his hands folded neatly in his lap. Across, Tatsumi stands, holding onto the back of a seat for support.

"I told you Kannuki, you could have stayed in our hotel room," Terazuma says, holding onto the pole as the subway sways along. "It should only take an hour, maybe less for us to find the guy." Wakaba moves her head just enough so that Terazuma can see her sticking her tongue out at him, her eyes still closed. She resettles herself and dozes in the seat.

Muraki and Tatsumi seem to be in some sort of silent competition to see who is more alert and minds the least that they're riding the subway at 4 A.M. looking for a lost soul. At this point, it seems to be an impasse. The lights flicker as the subway races through the tunnel.

"According to the records we obtained, the man was sleeping in the third car on the eastbound. When his family tried to rouse up, he wouldn't wake. That's when they called emergency services," Tatsumi says, filling in on the details.

"Chances are, the soul's probably either still sleeping, or walking around thinking that he's alive," Terazuma adds. "But since it's within ten days, he's probably still tied to his place of death." Muraki looks up at Terazuma questioningly. "It's just what souls do," Terazuma shrugs.

"That's right. Let's walk the train from end to end, and we'll see if we can't find him." Tatsumi begins making his way toward the next car.

"How will we recognize him?" Muraki asks.

"He'll be dead," Tatsumi says irritably, without turning around. "You'll know when you see him."

"Ah." Muraki nods. They leave Kannuki dozing in the subway car, and begin their systematic search. A few minutes later, Terazuma's found him.

An old man, huddled in his seat, sleeping. Muraki can see through him. So it was obvious, after all.

"Well, that was easy," Terazuma says, fiddling for a cigarette. He finds one, and shoves it between his lips. "You wanna do the honors, Tatsumi?"

"Of course," Tatsumi replies. "But next time, you will send the soul on," he says to Muraki. "Please watch closely."

Muraki nods.

"Excuse me, grandfather." Tatsumi taps the man on his shoulder. He stirs awake. "We're here."

"Hmm? Who are you people? Where's Arisu?" The man's voice is reed thin and brittle sounding. He looks tired.

"We're here to help you move on," Tatsumi says gently. "It's time for you to go." 

The man looks at them blankly for a moment, before understanding comes over his expression. "I see. Can I really go?"

"Yes." Tatsumi says with a soft smile. "We're here to help you with that."

"That…" The old man smiles weakly. "Thank you. I'm ready."

Tatsumi nods his head courteously. He reaches out with his hand to touch the man. As he does so, there's a slight shift of power – both Muraki and Terazuma can feel it. When his hand settles on the man, an inch over his heart, the stray soul wavers for a moment, before disappearing in a trailing wisp.

"That was pretty painless," Terazuma says, the cigarette in his mouth quivering.

"Let's get Wakaba and go back to the hotel," Tatsumi says. "We'll break for an hour and then go have breakfast. After that, we need to hunt down the bodies and resolve their statuses. We'll try to finish the last two souls tonight."

"I'm curious," Muraki asks Terazuma as Tatsumi walks out of the subway car back toward Wakaba. "What's the hurry? I thought we had a total of ten days to wrap things up."

"Eh, part of that's just Tatsumi's style," Terazuma says with a shrug. "But mainly, since they allocated budget until the end of next week for us to finish this case, if we finish early, it's like a free vacation in Chijou. All we have to do is show that at the end of the case, we made all our goals without too much property damage."

"Property damage?"

"Yeah. This one was easy – pathetically easy," Terazuma gestures at the now-empty subway seat. "Most of them, there's a lot of kicking and screaming going on. And fire. Or things breaking."

"I don't understand."

"Yeah, they don't put this in the official policy stuff," Terazuma says, gesturing for Muraki to follow him. They start walking through the subway cars, making their way back over to Wakaba. "Because of Japan's history, there are a lot of people born with strong spiritual powers. 'Course, it differs in ability or amount from person to person, but even someone with a little residual ability can kick your ass good once they're dead. That's why Shinigami here have to be so powerful." Terazuma explains. "You know that guy you nuked in New York? If he had been Japanese, it would have been your ass that went first, not his. The other countries only pick bureaucrats, not fighters."

"How did you know that?" Muraki's voice flares with anger.

"Eh, read your file." Terazuma says. "When you were chatting with Watari the other day. You've got an interesting past."

Muraki clenches his fists, his eyes growing dangerous. "Never bring this up to me ever again. And if you tell anyone, I will…"

"Relax, Muraki." Terazuma says seriously. He looks Muraki right in the eye. "I'm not telling anyone. The only people that are ever allowed to read your complete personnel file are your mentor, Enma, and maybe the Hakushaku, if he requests it personally. Otherwise, it's not anyone's business. Not even your partner's."

Muraki visibly relaxes.

"Now let's get the hell out of here. I can't smoke on the train," Terazuma says. "Hey, you know of any good breakfast places?"

***

A few hours later, they're at the International Catholic Hospital in Shinjuku. As luck would have it, the third victim was sent here too, so they'll save time by being able to finish them both at once. Tatsumi's posing as a visitor, and Wakaba is posing as his daughter. Terazuma and Muraki stay invisible, following the plan. They've got a bouquet of yellow carnations, which Wakaba is carrying.

Muraki, thankfully, knows his way around the hospital and knows every possible aspect of procedure. He stays close to Tatsumi, murmuring directions in his ear, telling him where to go, when to pause – all of it based on timing their entrance perfectly to minimize Tatsumi and Wakaba's exposure to the hospital staff. This tests Tatsumi's patience – of course, it's part of the plan, but that doesn't mean that he likes Muraki standing so close to him, making little observations and suggestions as they go along. 

Tatsumi is getting annoyed, and it makes some of the shadows in their wake tremble when they pass.

Finally, they enter the intensive care unit. It's this point that Tatsumi too becomes invisible. Tatsumi and Muraki are now visible only to their fellow Shinigami; even their voices are masked from mortal hearing. 

Terazuma and Wakaba wait outside, standing guard. Wakaba's got the flowers and looks like a young woman in the hallway waiting by herself for a relative. She even manages to look sad. Terazuma grins at her and makes faces at her while they wait in the hall, as if trying to break her composure. 

It's an old joke between them when they have to do things like this. Because Terazuma's so strange looking, Wakaba is always the visible partner in their cases. Once upon a time when they first started, Terazuma managed to stumble over a cat that had walked in while he wasn't looking and land on his face, making Wakaba laugh in the middle of a serious conversation about a murder investigation. Ever since then, Terazuma becomes occasionally silly with her while they work, to keep her company, to let her know he's paying attention. It's a good way to pass the time.

"How shall we do this?" Muraki asks softly, as they slip into the room when someone opens the door and make their way around the various family members that have been waiting by the old man's bedside. The old man looks even sicker in the hospital bed than he did a few hours ago when it was just his soul. "Do we interrupt power to the life support? I think if I got close enough, I could change the balance of solution in his IV drip…"

"No, nothing that leaves any physical traces," Tatsumi replies tersely. "It must seem natural, or else the hospital staff will come under suspicion. We cannot ever leave any traces of our presence or influence. It was in the manual," Tatsumi adds impatiently.

"Right." Muraki frowns to himself, annoyed at forgetting that detail. "What will you do then?"

"Just watch." Tatsumi opens his hand, and his own shadow seeps into his palm like a rush of black ink. He concentrates, and it forms into his hand, a long dagger of shadow. He walks over to the bedside, into an empty space where there are no bystanders.

He closes his eyes momentarily, as if in prayer. Tatsumi opens his eyes, and searching for the edge of the man's shadow, slides the blade in.

The body convulses for a moment. The room suddenly bursts into action as the heart monitor fluctuates wildly, sending off its alarm to the hospital staff, before falling into flatline. No one will get there in time to resuscitate the body. It's done. 

"That's it." Tatsumi says, as they walk away. "The next one's yours."

Muraki frowns, because he realizes he's been holding his breath.

He takes one last look at the grieving family as he walks out of the room. A high wail fills his ears, and he steps quickly down the hall following Tatsumi and the others to avoid hearing it.

*******

This is wrong.

Everything about it is wrong. It's Thursday evening. While elsewhere, the Shinigami are chasing down two lost souls, Oriya is letting Saki into Muraki's apartment. Tonight was the third night they had dinner together. Earlier today, they even met for lunch. 

Saki is charming – kind at the right moments, scathingly witty at others. Saki and Oriya are on a first name basis. It was never the case with Muraki.

It's wrong.

Oriya feels like he's being played. It's just a feeling – he can't really pin down where the manipulation is taking place, only that it's happening. But he can't seem to resist. The more he struggles, the more he's entangled. He doesn't know what to do.

Saki is what Oriya has always wanted Muraki to be. They've got the same eyes. Similar senses of humor. The same little smile that verges on something brittle but cruel at the same time when something bothers them. But Saki knows when to back down. Knows when to press for more details. Doesn't do anything that could cause Oriya to lose sleep at night. Doesn't have that same sense of fatalism. 

Saki's even convinced him that Muraki was the one who killed his own parents. He doesn't want to believe Saki, but it's so very plausible. Even when Oriya first met Muraki (half a life-time ago, wasn't it? About eighteen years come spring) there was that taint of insanity and murder along the edges of Muraki's personality. Oriya doesn't know who to believe anymore.

It's as if Saki is replacing Muraki.

It scares Oriya. He's been sleeping with his katana next to him on Muraki's big bed. It gives him a sense of security to reach out at night and feel the solidity of metal under his hand, grounding him to the reality. He feels like any moment, he could be stolen. Stolen from himself. From his memory of Muraki.

Not in many years has Oriya felt the need to protect himself. It unbalances him. He feels like he's wavering in his intentions, and it bothers him. Oriya prides himself on his focus, on his resolve.

And now, he's making tea for Saki. They're sitting across from each other in Muraki's living room with a low table between them. The white and crimson orchids are in a vase on the table; Oriya's amazed they've survived for so long.

Oriya pours the tea for Saki. It's a barrage of memory. As Saki takes the cup from his hands, their fingers brush. It's not tea ceremony, yet Saki turns the cup twice. Just like Muraki would have. It was one of Muraki's odd little habits when he had tea with Oriya, even if it was just something as simple as hot water steeping a teabag in the university dormitory. Oriya never knew if it was sarcasm, or if it was Muraki's way of complimenting his abilities. But the deference in Saki's movements tells Oriya that it's definitely a compliment, respect to a master.

Oriya's trembling.

"Is everything all right?" Saki asks solicitously. "Here, let me pour you some tea." Saki reaches out, untwining Oriya's fingers from the handle of the pot. He pours Oriya a cup. Muraki would have never done that for him.

"Thank you." The heavy ceramic cup is hot in his hands. Oriya uses the pain as a focus, forcing the rush of emotions aside. 

"If you're not feeling well, I can go." Saki says. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No." The word comes out of Oriya's mouth before he can stop it. "That is…if you want." Oriya adds weakly, staring at the tea. The stem floats. He should make a wish. He takes a sip – it's jasmine in green, scented like perfume. The steam rises lazily off the surface. 

"I won't leave you unless you want me to," Saki says looking straight into Oriya's clear brown eyes. He leaves the rest to Oriya's interpretation. Saki then looks down at his own cup of tea, giving Oriya some privacy.

There's a long moment of quiet. But it's not uncomfortable – Saki seems to be completely content not saying anything. His silence is devastating. They used to sit like this together, Oriya and Muraki, drinking tea, saying nothing. The conversation was only between their souls. There didn't need to be anything to fill the stillness, because they knew each other and the words never had to be spoken. Knew. Spoken.

The past tense sends little surges of pain through Oriya. He closes his eyes, trying to will them away.

"Why did my brother leave Kyoto?" Saki asks. The pain intensifies. 

"I…don't know." Oriya murmurs. His hair's slowly coming undone, and it's slipping toward his face. Oriya impatiently brushes it back with one hand.

"Was that the last time you saw him alive?"

"Yes." The word is like a whisper. Oriya's heart clutches painfully; cold shivers sliding through him.

"I'm sorry." Saki says softly. "I don't understand why he would do something like that. I would never leave my friend behind without an explanation."

It's too much. The cup slides out of Oriya's hand, leaving a hot splash of tea on the ground. It doesn't break, but rolls under the living room table with a clatter. The sound jars Oriya out of his thoughts.

"Ah…" Oriya begins to get up to clean up the spill.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it." Saki says, getting up and moving toward the kitchen. He returns with a kitchen towel and crouches down beside Oriya wiping up the spilled tea, retrieving the cup and righting it on the table. "Fortunately, the floors are hardwood," Saki says, his hand is on the sofa next to Oriya for balance. Oriya stares at Saki's fingers blankly. They're slender and graceful, just like Muraki's. Saki makes a final wipe. "There." 

"You didn't have to do that." Oriya says softly. "I could have handled it."

"I know. But I wanted to," Saki replies, looking up at Oriya. He sets the damp towel on the table, and straightens up, sitting down next to Oriya. "You don't have to be responsible for everything all the time."

Too much. Oriya's hand goes to cover his eyes. Tears are welling up. It's wrong. Saki is too good, is too kind. He needs to run. Oriya starts moving to get up, but Saki's hand stops him, a steady pressure on his shoulder.

"Let me help you. You've already done more than enough." Saki says. The words bring the funeral back to mind. The eulogy. The lawyers. Two weeks of unending reminders that his closest and only true friend in the world is dead. It's all coming back to him, all at once.

The blood-red earrings cutting into his palm. Muraki's ice cold hand beneath his in the morgue. Muraki under the light of the crimson moon, untangling Oriya's grasp from his coat, a last farewell. His parents' graves, tiny flakes of pure white settling on the dark broken earth. The fact that he didn't meet them at the airport before they left to say goodbye. Oriya chokes on the grief.

He needs to run. Oriya needs to get away. He wants to, but he can't. Saki's gentle touch is stronger than any chain, binding Oriya to him, stronger than the kidnapper's handcuffs when he bound Oriya to that pipe in the filthy basement.

Oriya has lost, but he doesn't know it yet.

Wordlessly, Saki pulls Oriya close against him, letting Oriya's tears soak the silk of his shirt. Oriya's arms move hesitantly, before they wrap around Saki. They smell the same, Saki and Muraki, but without the metallic taint of blood. Saki smells clean.

Before long there are no more tears. Oriya feels himself being guided. He doesn't know where he is anymore, nor does he care. All he knows is that he's being sheltered, being protected. No one's ever been able to do that for him in his life. Not even his parents.

His coat is coming off, and the neck of his shirt is loosened. Someone's undoing his hair for him. It feels good.

Suddenly, he's lying down. Covers are being drawn up around him.

"No, don't leave." Oriya clutches at the hand that is pulling the covers up toward his throat. The fingers are warm.

"I said that I won't leave you unless you want me to," a voice says to him, soothingly, an assuring reminder. "I always keep my promises." He imagines that it's Muraki. After all, it sounds almost like him, especially when Oriya's eyes are closed. 

A moment later, the pressure of another person's weight against the bed.

"Just sleep." It's the most rational suggestion he's heard in a long time. Strong arms twine around him, pulling him close. It's warm here, and safe.

Oriya can sleep now.

***

Stray sunlight is making its way down Oriya's face. The brightness is intense, and it nudges him toward awareness.

Drowsily, he reaches for his sword. It's usually to his right.

It's not there. But Saki is, and he's awake. Oriya blinks in confusion for a moment, before he remembers what happened last night. He looks at the clock. It's after nine. He sits up with a start.

"The movers. I need to…" Saki's hand touches his arm, interrupting him.

"It's all right. They called earlier. The truck broke down, so they won't be able to come until Monday at the earliest." Saki says as he sits up, the sheets winding around him. His hair looks a little rumpled, and he's fully clothed.

"Thank you." Oriya looks confused. He thinks that he should have heard the phone ring. He wonders how he managed to sleep this deeply. Oriya is usually a very light sleeper, waking up with the slightest noise.

"Don't worry so much," Saki says softly, his hand capturing Oriya's face, turning Oriya to look at him. "I said I would help you, didn't I?" He smiles, very genuinely.

"Thank you." The words are like a whisper. Oriya lets his eyes shut. He's been so tired recently.

There's a pause. He can feel Saki's weight shift on the mattress.

Suddenly, Saki's lips are on Oriya's, insistent but gentle at the same time, his hand sliding along the back of Oriya's neck, stroking his long hair. Oriya's eyes flutter open. He pulls back with a start, before he recognizes what's going on.

"Saki." The word's just a breath, an exhalation formed into sound.

"You and Kazutaka…?" Saki asks, his eyes searching Oriya's.

"He never asked. I never offered." Oriya touches his lips with his fingertips, as if not completely understanding the implications.

"Is it all right then, for you and I?" Saki asks, his dark eyes meeting Oriya's, moving closer to cup Oriya's face in his hands. Oriya's long hair slides around Saki's fingertips. "May we be friends?" 

Oriya trembles.

*******

Sorry I'm late. I was caught up with my blossom. 

So how have you been? Good, I'm glad for you. I like it better when things are slow. It's nice to just stop and smell the roses.

Ah, right. I didn't forget about that part. I just haven't had the time to really tell you everything. It's been a busy week. 

Last night and this morning's visits with my blossom were especially fruitful. I think I might be getting what I want after all. My blossom just needs a little guidance. He's so delicate right now that just the slightest bit of effort on my part leads him straight to where I want him to go.

Oh, but you wanted to hear more about Kazutaka's past. We can save Oriya for later; he's not going anywhere anytime soon.

Kazutaka it is then.

His mother was scary. Her eyes were completely colorless. I don't mean white or something like that, I mean clear; if you looked closely you could see the inner workings of the tiny blood vessels in her eyes. The only real color on her was the dark of her pupils. Even her hair was completely white. Not like Kazutaka's silver. He looks like if you took his mother's looks and slightly tainted them with black, making a silver, silver-gray coloring. She was perfectly, perfectly white. It wasn't normal for a human being, but it was natural for her. They didn't really let her out too much. 

Then, there's our father. The man was a total bastard. I'm glad he's dead. I'm glad both of them are dead. They both had selfish streaks a mile wide. Kazutaka never saw it though. He was too brainwashed by those people to know any better.

My father. The one who impregnated my mother and ruined her life. I bet you didn't know that she was training to become a nun. Most people don't. I never even knew it until I looked it up myself. I don't think she was more than fifteen, sixteen years old when he seduced her. 

They threw her out of the convent after they found out she was pregnant. She was the best of all the novices, extremely intelligent and responsible. She really, really believed in God and His love. But I think in the end even her faith in Him couldn't protect her from sin after sin.

Not even God could protect her from the Murakis.

When I was five, he drove her to suicide, because he wouldn't acknowledge me and let me be brought up with his name. He showed absolutely no interest in my existence until I was fourteen and my high school entrance scores were so phenomenally high that he couldn't ignore me anymore. Then he had me taken out of the orphanage and took me home to live with his family as if I was a charity case. As if I was his pet genius.

Muraki. The name tastes like poison on my tongue. I swore vengeance on my mother's cold hand before they nailed her into her coffin. I was only a child at the time, but that doesn't mean I won't keep my promise. I always keep my promises.

Mother wasn't allowed a decent church burial. She lies in unhallowed ground with aborted infants and the other suicides, with murderers and sinners beyond the pale of God's love.

Sometimes I imagine that she's crying out for me from hell. The flames lick at her tears, turning them into a vapor that rises up from the ground like the steamy subway grates in winter. 

Don't tell me that it's cruel to say my mother is in hell. It's true. God hates nothing worse than a suicide who takes His gift of life in vain.

My father sentenced my mother to an eternity in hell. 

That was my promise. I would, for her, get revenge. That meant that I would erase the Muraki line once and for all. Make sure they couldn't hurt anyone else again. It's a small price to pay, my immortal soul. And I did fairly well up until the moment I was shot.

Recently, it looks like someone beat me to it and killed Kazutaka before I could try again. Good for them. It's a hollow victory, but at least he's dead now. One less murder on my hands. It makes things a little trickier for my long-term plans, but in some ways, it might be easier. After all, the blossom is so very fragile and pliable right now.

I have my life to live again and I'm no longer constrained by my promises now that Kazutaka's dead. This means that I'm as free as I can be, given the circumstances. It's just a matter of waiting at this point.

Someday I'll join my mother, as a murderer and a sinner beyond the scope of God's grace. We'll be together again one day. I can't face eternity without her. 

I would rather burn in hell with her than be in heaven without her.

But first, there's something I have to do. 

I have to go now. I promised to meet my blossom again today. Things are picking up. 

But we'll talk soon. Ja.

*******

To be continued…

Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei belongs to Matsushita Yoko

Thanks: Thanks to my pre-readers, Cyrus Marriner, Ruby Dian, and Danceswithelvis. You guys are awesome. Tatsumi's shadow blade is borrowed from The Myriad Creatures, by Cyrus Marriner (Rowsdower on fanfiction.net – check it out, it's in my favorite stories list.). He also contributed the idea about the IV drip. Big thanks to D for her suggestions in rewriting some of the scenes involving Sato and Saki. 

Thanks also to you, the reader, for following me in my merry (and crazy) path. You guys are awesome too. Thank you so much for your kind reviews and support. *___*

Author's notes: Amgen's corporate headquarters are in Thousand Oaks, about a half-hour north of Los Angeles. If you're curious about my sources, check out my livejournal for reference sources for this last chapter – I post all that plus additional notes there. I'd put the url here but ff.net isn't allowing me – just look for the username 'eag.' 

Well damn. Fast and furious writing for these last few chapters. I didn't know it was going this direction either, I swear. I've pretty much been writing what I think is interesting and developable. So unfortunately for now that means no Tsuzuki or Hisoka, but they'll be back eventually, I think. I noticed Oriya and Saki keep hijacking this chapter, but I'll see if I can't work it together a little better in the next chapter. I really like writing Oriya though. ^_^

Next chapter: An unlikely key unlocks the path. Saki's plans are revealed and Oriya meets the Shinigami.

Behind the scenes:

Cyrus You should do a scene where Oriya and Saki try to outdo each other, but with sex. Like: "I know you like that." "Oh yeah? Well, what about this? You like this, don't you?"

No omake this chapter. Let's try something different.

The Path of Stones

It was only after he died that he truly lived.

Sato was born blind, deaf, and mute. He had lived always in a world of darkness defined by touch. His favorites were silk and steel. One, because it was slick and incredibly light to the touch. The other, because it could cut him. Both of them were items that were forbidden to his hand.

He was born the only child of an old samurai family, the last of the direct line. They had grieved when they realized their black-haired boy was handicapped beyond repair, but they had made sure he was well-cared for. All his life, he was helpless, controlled by others who he could not see, hear, or speak to.

But then one day, a jealous member of a branch family poisoned him to gain the heir's position. So he died, unable to tell anyone about the bitter tea that tore his innards asunder and stole his life. 

Sato knew who killed him but even as a Shinigami, he couldn't do anything about it. When he thinks about it, he can still feel the heavy embroidered edge of their robe and the rough calluses of their hands brushing his cheek as they lifted the cup to his lips.

For over a hundred years he had lived in the world of Meifu, one of the top Shinigami of Summons division. With his powers, he could make the sakura petals dance to his will, their minute shadows pulling them this way and that. When he had a mind to, he did the same with individual snowflakes. It was just something he liked to do. Sato loved precision and order.

He didn't like the others. He especially refused being partnered up with anyone that he didn't have an interest in working with. Even then, his partners had a messy habit of dying on him. Of course, it was never his fault. 

This was true until Tatsumi.

Sato liked him from the start, but he never said anything. After all, it wouldn't do to have his partner or any of the others think that he was soft. It just wasn't good for his reputation. He trained Tatsumi by his own hand, and secretly enjoyed watching Tatsumi's progress, his potential bursting forth like a raging river behind his cool blue eyes.

Sato always liked Tatsumi best. It was because of Tatsumi's graceful nature, the way his kind spirit was tempered with a resolve of iron. They were traits that Sato liked most about certain people, but in Tatsumi, they were all together in one person, bundled in a charming visage, topped off with these sharp looking modern glasses that corrected his vision.

It was truly love. Sato could gaze forever into those perfectly cerulean eyes.

Their affair had lasted nearly a decade. Looking back, Sato always thought of it as the best time in his existence, the only time that he had ever been truly happy. For Sato, it was his first love. For Tatsumi, it was his second. They had shared everything.

But even then, Sato knew that eventually it would have to end. It wasn't that he was growing tired of working for Enma – he could hunt down souls all day and not be disinterested. It was because he was hurting Tatsumi.

Sato never liked to admit it to himself, but he knew that his love was slowly destroying the younger man. Sato's affection was not something that Tatsumi found easy to accept, nor was it something that really made Tatsumi happy. Sato had pursued Tatsumi relentlessly until he captured him, and even then, it was not enough.

Sato learned that it was the one thing that truly marred his character, aside from his impatience and temper, aside from his need to control things. Those were tiny imperfections compared to the real problem. 

His love hurt Tatsumi. 

And no matter how much Sato wanted Tatsumi, Sato could not stand to continue hurting him. So he gave him to Tsuzuki when the time was right, and left.

This is why they don't speak anymore. It pains Sato to think about it, but he knows it's what was best for Tatsumi. He refuses to see Tatsumi anymore, because he can't stand to see the pain in Tatsumi's eyes. Better this small hurt than a larger one.

***

Today, Sato is visiting Chijou. On the eastern coast of Siberia north of Japan, it's snowing. He stands on the boulder-strewn shore as snowflakes fly down from the sky, a flurry that obscures the dark sea before him.

His breaths leave plumes of vapor in the air. He takes a step, then another, moving quickly from one stone to another, climbing across the expanse of the shore. He picks a path along the rocks, refusing the fly, concentrating on maintaining his balance as icy bits of snow score his cheeks with their chill.

The roiling sky is the color of slate, a dark gray-blue. The waves slam against the rocks around him, their white plumes misting up into the air. The taste of salt in the air, the strong smell of the sea – it's all very wonderful to Sato.

Sato's mind is a blank, because he wills it so. Otherwise, he might think of his lovely Tatsumi, whom he hears is back in Tokyo with a new partner. It takes every last bit of effort to will himself not to fly off to Tokyo and find Tatsumi.

Sato wonders if he's allowed to change his decision and come out of retirement. If he can, maybe he'll arrange an accident for this new partner. He'd like his Tatsumi back.

He pushes the thought from his mind as he moves along the rocks. It's a pretty idea, but he won't bother Tatsumi ever again. 

Tatsumi deserves better, after all. 

Sato stops, perched precariously on a large rock, and raises his hand.

Before his outstretched hand, the snowflakes pause and then coalesce, swirling into a miniature storm over his palm, each individual shadow completely under his control. It begins rotating faster and faster, making his dark hair whip around him. Finally, it reaches an almost dangerous climax – the snowflakes are moving so fast that they've become sharp enough to cut. Sato smiles and with a flick of his hand, lets go his hold on the shadows. The snowflakes fall gently to the ground, melting into the seawater.

It's such a beautiful day today. Sato smiles at the stormy sky as he continues his way along the path of stones.

Thank you very much for reading! Questions? Comments? Corrections? cori_ohki@hotmail.com  



	6. The True Death, Part 2

Summary: The Shinigami wrap up their work in Tokyo while Saki makes his first serious move.

The True Death, Part 2

            Terazuma leans against the brick of the old factory wall casually, one foot braced against the wall, the other against the ground.  His white dress shirt's untucked over his black pants, and he's having a cigarette, the movement of the glowing red tip in the darkness the only real sign that he's even there.  

            It's about two in the morning, and from a distance, if you happened to glance down the alley, he looks like any other street punk in Tokyo with the hood of his jacket drawn over his head obscuring his face from casual view.  He's standing near a doorway keeping watch.

            Terazuma exhales.  The smoke lingers in the air, floating in the dim sodium vapor light.  To the mortal eye, it appears that he's talking to himself.

            "Eh, just wait."  Terazuma says.  This is one of the few times that Terazuma is visible on their cases, when he's playing at street punk.  He finishes his cigarette, and grinds it underneath his foot.

            "Do you think they'll be all right in there?"  Wakaba stands next to him, invisible to mortal eyes.  It wouldn't do for pretty girls to be seen in an area such as this so late, so they've worked out a system where if one of them has to be visible late at night, it would be Terazuma.

            "They'll be fine," Terazuma says, as he fishes for another cigarette.  He'd rather be doing something other than waiting, but he'd rather let the Tokyo Two, as he's been calling Tatsumi and Muraki, learn how to work with each other.  "I trained the kid myself," Terazuma grins.  "So he'd better be good and ass-kicking.  Ah crap.  Lighter's out."  

            "Hajime shouldn't smoke so much," Wakaba frowns.  "It's not healthy."

            "Kuro-sama likes it, and what Kuro wants, Kuro gets," Terazuma says, gesturing with his unlit cigarette.  "Anyway, it can't kill me.  I'm already dead."  Terazuma starts looking up thoughtfully, as if listening for something.

            "That doesn't mean that you…it's coming!" Wakaba's suddenly cut off as Terazuma grabs her by the shoulder and drags her out of the way.  A second later, the door comes flying off of the building, slicing through the air where Wakaba had been standing.  It's followed by a loud concussive blast.  

            "Damn, looks like things are picking up," Terazuma says, letting go of Wakaba without further comment.  It's perhaps one of the few times he's been able to touch a woman without transforming, when danger's afoot and he reacts before he thinks.  Terazuma has always thought that it was unfair.  "If that doesn't get the cops running, I don't know what will."

            "Do you think we should go and make sure they're okay?"

            "Nah, they're big boys.  They can handle themselves," Terazuma says.  "Ah, barrier."

            Wakaba pulls out an ofuda, and takes a step closer to Terazuma, who looks away, a little uncomfortable with their sudden proximity.  Soon after, there's a second explosion, this time blasting through the high glass-paned windows above them.  Dagger-like shards of glass comes flying down in a shower of debris, splintering off of Wakaba's barrier, leaving them in a two foot diameter circle free from harm.

            "It's times like this when I'm glad I have such good hearing," Terazuma says, tapping his head.  "Thank you so very much, KokuShunGei-sama."

            "I guess this means they're having some trouble," Wakaba says, putting the ofuda away as the dust settles.  "Do you think the police will be here soon?"

            "This part of town?  I'd give them another fifteen minutes," Terazuma leans back against the wall, wondering how long it would take for Tatsumi and Muraki to wrap things up.  "Or less," he concedes, as he hears the growing wail of the approaching sirens. 

            "They should hurry up then," Wakaba says, looking askance at the now empty doorway.  

            "Watch out," Terazuma says, putting his arm out before Wakaba, pulling her back from the doorway.  His Shiki twitches eagerly as flames come gouting out of the darkened entrance, highlighting everything in stark relief as it rages before dying out, leaving little bursts of fire in its trail. 

            "Thank you, Hajime-chan," Wakaba beams, half-turning to look up at him.  Terazuma notices that he's pulled her up against him, and quickly lets her go.  His Shikigami recoils against the sudden jerk in his emotions, but settles back down before anything happens.

            "Eh, don't worry about it," Terazuma says uneasily, distracting himself by lighting his cigarette against the burning doorframe.  "It's just what partners do.  Speaking of partners, look who the cat dragged out.  Get your ass kicked, kid?"

            "Shut up," Muraki scowls at Terazuma as he exits the building.  Tatsumi follows.  They both look slightly singed.  Tatsumi's hair and glasses are dusted with soot and Muraki is patting out the remnants of a fire that had caught on his sleeve.

            "Wah, are you two all right?"  Wakaba asks.  "Did you get burned?"

            "Just a little," Muraki replies.  "It's..."

            "Everything's fine," Tatsumi interrupts with a dismissive wave of his hand.  "But this one got away.  We're going to have to look again tomorrow night."

            "For a suicide, he sure wants to stay," Terazuma says dryly.

            "Buyer's remorse," Tatsumi notes curtly as he runs his hand through his hair, dislodging most of the soot in a little black cloud.  He begins wiping off his glasses.

            "I never knew that stray souls could be so troublesome.  Or dangerous."  Muraki comments.  He's got black smudges of charcoal on his face.

            "Yeah, well, you get them backed into a corner like that, they'll go nuts on you," Terazuma says.  "Bad choice, following it here."

            "This wouldn't have happened if you were paying attention when we were trying to trap it," Tatsumi says to Muraki.  "Now we're going to have to be out an extra night or two because now it knows we're looking for it."

            "I didn't know what I was looking for," Muraki counters.

            "The man's soul was completely on fire!  Didn't that seem like something you should do something about?" Tatsumi says.

            "What was I to do about that?  Get a garden hose?  Self-immolation isn't exactly within my realm of experience!" Muraki snaps.

            "It should be!  Haven't you been studying the manual?"  Tatsumi snarls.

            "Ah…Tatsumi-san?  Kazutaka-san?  Maybe we should get going?"  Wakaba gently interjects, before the two of them can tear each other apart.  She's wondering how they're going to do without her because she's managed to keep them from tearing into each other on at least a half-dozen occasions, and it's only Friday night.  "The police just arrived."  She points.  Off in the distance down the alley, they can see the flicker of the police lights.

            "We will talk about this later," Tatsumi says, his voice holding a tone of finality.

            "Fine." 

            "Let's go," Tatsumi says.

            "All right then," Muraki scowls.

            Wakaba and Terazuma shrug at each other.

            A moment later the four of them disappear, leaving nothing that evidenced their passage other than a circle completely clear of broken glass.

*******

            It's the end of another long day.  True to his word, Saki's been helping out in various ways; ferrying Oriya around to the various locales during the day, even inviting Oriya over to stay at his apartment overnight before he returns to Kyoto so he wouldn't have to be surrounded by reminders of Muraki.  The weight of Muraki's death somehow seems lessened by these little acts of kindness.

            Saki's apartment is genially cluttered, unlike the cold sterility of Muraki's apartment or the elegant simplicity of Kokakurou.  There are art pieces from all over the world, a testament to Saki's life in Los Angeles, perhaps one of the most ethnically diverse cities in the world.  

            "I had a much bigger place in California," Saki says half-apologetically, as he's making tea.  "I left most of my things when I moved to Tokyo, and the stuff I brought still didn't quite fit.  Housing is much more affordable there than it is in Tokyo.  I lived in a big ranch house in Camarillo – I even had room for my own laboratory."

            "Do you still own the property?" Oriya asks.  He's feeling tired – it's been a long day, but Saki's stories of his life in America are far too interesting to pass up.

            "I do.  When Satomi died, everything was willed to me because he never married or had children, so I was able to keep the house.  I've got a friend out there that handles the property for me.  It's a really nice piece of land.  It's in a tract of housing that's surrounded by strawberry fields.  When the berries are ripe, everything smells like strawberries for a few weeks."

            "That must be very lovely," Oriya says.  Saki's couch is very comfortable – he feels like he could easily curl up and take a nap in if it wasn't so rude.  It's a tempting thought but Oriya puts it aside, sitting up straight to avoid thinking of his own fatigue.

            "It's great.  You should come and visit me some time when I'm out there," Saki says, bringing the pot of tea and two cups.  He sits down next to Oriya and pours tea for the two of them.  "But not when they fertilize the fields, because then everything smells like manure for a few days."  

            Oriya can't help but laugh.  "How horrible."

            "It's not too bad as long as you pinch your nose and close the windows," Saki says with a wink.  "Ah, that reminds me."  He gets back up and comes back with a box and a small knife.  It's slightly battered looking, and the addresses are written in English.  It's stamped with big red block-text: Fragile and Perishable.

            "A friend of mine from the states mailed me something special recently," Saki says with a smile, "And I thought I'd save it to share with you."

            "Oh?"  Oriya watches Saki open the box curiously.

            "Avocados, limes, prickly pear fruit, blood oranges, and figs," Saki says, opening the box.  "They send me a box about every few months, depending on what's in season." 

            Oriya looks at the assorted fruit curiously.  It's a glimpse into an exotic world.  "What's a blood orange?" 

            Saki picks up one of the oranges.  Its skin is darker than a regular orange, slightly tinged with crimson.  "Let me show you."  He takes the knife and slices it in half.  Inside, the fruit is deeply crimson, the juices running over Saki's fingers like blood.

            "That's amazing."  

            "Try it."  Saki cuts the orange into segments, and the two split the slices.  But for its crimson flesh, it tastes just like any other orange – a little bit of a disappointment to Oriya given its inventive coloring and name.  

            Oriya watches unblinkingly as Saki licks the trailing red juice off his hands.

            "I've never seen fresh figs before," Oriya says, turning his attention elsewhere to cover his momentary fascination with Saki's actions.  He picks up the palm-sized fruit.  It's fat-bottomed and deep purple, trailing up toward a green stem.

            "They're much better fresh," Saki smiles.  "My friend's got a farm in Santa Paula and they just start coming into season this time of year.  Hers are much better though, because most figs on the market are a lot smaller.  Did you know that they don't flower?  The fruit buds off of the branches."

            Oriya looks at the fig curiously.  "How do you eat it?"

            "Peel it, starting from the stem," Saki explains.

Oriya breaks the stem and begins peeling the fig, setting the skin on a napkin that Saki provides.  Oriya breaks the soft fruit in half carefully, revealing the purple-pink interior, the prickly-looking heart of the fruit.  He takes a bite of one of the halves.  It's sweet and juicy with a crunch of the tiny seeds, its flavor lighter and cleaner than any dried fig Oriya's ever had.

            Without warning, Saki captures Oriya's hand, and lifts the other half of the fruit to his mouth.  Oriya's breath catches, muscles tensing minutely in anticipation.  Saki takes a bite of the fig, and then another, all the while watching Oriya closely, watching for his reaction.

            Oriya feels momentarily paralyzed, as if caught in the hypnotic sway of a serpent's gaze.

            "Do you like it?"  Saki says softly, as he takes the tips of Oriya's fingers into his mouth, licking at the remnants of the fruit.  Saki's mouth seeks him out before he can respond.

            The answer, however, is yes.

            But Saki draws back. 

            "Ah, I'm sorry, Oriya.  I don't mean to be selfish," he says apologetically.  "I suppose you're tired and want to go to bed."  

            "Y-yes…I probably should," Oriya says, his mind still reeling from Saki's kisses.  "Thank you for inviting me to stay here."

            "It's no problem," Saki gets up.  "Shall we?"

            "All right."

***

            In the end it was Oriya who made the next advance, pinning Saki down against the yielding surface of the mattress, sliding his hands beneath the slick gray silk of Saki's shirt to feel the hot skin below.      Saki is pliant beneath his touch, his breaths uneven with little gasps of pleasure at Oriya's ministrations.  Oriya's long dark hair slides down over his shoulders, brushing along Saki's throat, pooling about them as Saki's hands move to worry at the buttons of Oriya's long-sleeved shirt.

            Oriya's far more comfortable with this arrangement – his love affairs (and that mainly, meant the affairs of the bedroom and not the heart) center mainly around beautiful women (not Kokakurou's, of course), with the occasional pretty young man to liven the mix.  Saki wasn't exactly what fit into Oriya's usual tastes, but that didn't mean that Oriya was going to allow Saki to take certain liberties with him, particularly in the bedroom.

            Oriya sits up, his legs straddling Saki, and impatiently pulls his shirt off, revealing his strongly muscled torso.  Saki's dark eyes watch him with a particularly calculated gleam, as if wondering what he'll do next.

            Oriya, of course, is never one to back down from a challenge.  Oriya runs his fingers along Saki's jaw, tipping his face up possessively before leaning down to engage him in more thorough kisses.

            Oriya smiles against Saki's lips as Saki's eyes widen with surprise. 

            It's probably feigned though.

***

            Later, after Oriya's breath evens out from his exertions, after they've cleaned and drunk some water, room temperature from a bottle on the bedside stand, Oriya lies half-dozing with Saki leaning against him, companionably close.  Saki's fingers are playing along the long feather-dark strands of Oriya's hair, caressing through his scalp.  It's a lazy comfortable feeling.

            "Tell me about Kokakurou," Saki whispers, a soft murmur in Oriya's ear.

            "I have a garden in one of the inner courtyards.  There's a stone-lined pond that's fed from an underground spring, and at the end of winter when the snow melts, white narcissus flowers bloom along the shore.  I planted them there when I was a child," Oriya says drowsily.  "I don't even remember why."  His lips move into a gentle smile.  "I must have been five or six.  The things children do."

            "Do you like it there?"  In the dark, Oriya's almost not certain anymore who he's talking to, when it's taking place.  Is he nineteen and in the university dormitory, Muraki across the room from him in the other bed?  Is he twenty-three and half-dozing in his futon while Muraki feels his forehead, his expert touch searching for lingering remnants of the fever?  Is Muraki still waking up with the headaches?  

            It's so hard to tell.  But Oriya's just happy that it's Muraki.  He can almost see the pale fingers in the dark as they stroke his hair.  Oriya's eyes, however, are closed.

            "It's just a place," Oriya's voice begins to waver, dissipating like the long movement of electromagnetic waves as they travel across countries and continents.  "I didn't always live there – I grew up in a house not too far away.  It was just the place where work was done, but then they died and our house became too big and empty for me to live in by myself."  Oriya's mind wanders, fixating on the idea of big and empty spaces.  He's thinking about Doppler shifts and the persistent dance of the planets as the universe ever expands, flinging its creation further and further from its heart.

            "What else is in Kokakurou?"  The voice is gentle and persistent.  Oriya can't find a reason to refuse it even though it keeps him at the edge of sleep.  He could easily slide down and lose himself in unconsciousness, but the voice ties him to something vaguely resembling awareness.

            "Flowers.  Ceramic cups.  Polished wood and tatami floors.  Paper-screen doors.   My swords.  The servants, the maids.  Me," Oriya's mind is already half-dreaming.  In his mind, he's now busy with the day's work in Kokakurou; he's thinking about whether today they should use the black lacquer ware or the red, is it a Friday or Saturday and which set needs polishing, if that's the case then perhaps it'll be porcelain and they'll go with the white and blue or…

            "Tell me Oriya, what about…"  

             Oriya dreams, but part of him is still awake enough to answer.

***

            The next morning when Oriya wakes up, he remembers nothing of their conversation.

            Curious, Oriya thinks, as he looks at the clock while he dresses.  It's far later than he would normally sleep – Oriya normally wakes up a little after dawn, because he likes to get an early start on the day.  Oriya shrugs and attributes it to fatigue.  He's never liked dealing with lawyers or banks, and he's dealt with quite a few in the last week or so.

            Last night, he had an odd dream.  The first part of it was jumbled – he dreamt that he was in Kokakurou having a talk with someone, but he doesn't remember who it was.  They talked about a lot of things, but for the life of him, Oriya can't seem to remember what they discussed.  But then the next part was far clearer.  Oriya dreamt that he saw Muraki again.  Muraki was trying to talk to him.  Trying to tell him something that he needed to know, something important.  But Oriya had told him and very firmly, "You're dead, it's wrong to talk to dead people."

            After he had said that, Muraki's expression was filled with such confusion and grief – it was so unusual that for an instant, Oriya began to regret saying it.  And then, Muraki was gone.

            It was the oddest dream.  Oriya wonders about it as he shrugs on his shirt.

            "Good morning," Saki yawns, stretching his arms as he sits up in bed.

            "Good morning," Oriya replies.  And then, as he buttons his shirt, "I have return to the apartment and get the cat before I go back to Kyoto."

            Saki unwinds himself from the bed sheets.  He's wearing only a thin pair of boxer shorts over his leanly muscled frame.  He comes up behind Oriya, pulling him into an embrace.  They're the same height to the inch.  Saki's body is still warm from the bed, and Oriya feels his heat through the thin fabric of the shirt.

            ""May I give you a ride to the station?"  Saki asks.

            "Thank you," Oriya says, distractedly.  "I want to try to catch the train to Kyoto before noon."

            "I've been meaning to go to Kyoto myself," Saki murmurs into Oriya's ear as Oriya fastens the tiny buttons on his shirtsleeves.  Oriya doesn't fumble and gets them correctly on the first try.   "I've yet to have time to visit Satomi's grave and give my respects.  It's almost been a year."

            "May I offer you a room in Kokakurou then?"  Oriya says, "I can take you to your professor's grave.  I don't think it's too far from where I live."

            "Thank you," Saki's lips find Oriya's skin.

            Oriya closes his eyes as Saki presses a kiss against his throat.  

*******

            Muraki is awake.  Tatsumi isn't.  It's a perfect opportunity.

            Quietly, imperceptibly, Muraki slips out.  He's had a lot of practice doing things silently, though up until now he hasn't shown it.  What the Shinigami didn't know – and there were some things that they didn't know, no matter how many files they had and diagnostics they could run – couldn't hurt them.  

            Much.

            It's early in the morning and the sun hasn't yet risen.  Muraki's had about three hours of sleep but probably less, but that doesn't bother him.  He's used to running on very little sleep.  It's likely that Terazuma's the only one who knows that, but it doesn't really matter now – Terazuma and Wakaba are most likely still sleeping.

            Muraki makes his way out of the hotel.  What he doesn't know is that no matter what he thinks he can hide from the Shinigami, he still doesn't know their abilities nearly as well as his own.  But more importantly, he doesn't know that Tatsumi is following him.

***

            It's morbid curiosity, and Muraki knows it.  Still, it doesn't stop him from taking the subway, going to the graveyard, and finding his own grave.  At the least, he doesn't bring himself flowers – that would certainly be something approaching least excessive egotism.  

            He stands before the marker, his hand reaching out hesitantly to touch the polished stone.  His name engraved into the granite marker.  Muraki never expected to see it like this.  

            Muraki wonders what's happened to his earrings.  He'd like them back.  But really, the image that Terazuma had put into his mind of the shovel hitting the earth of the grave is too disturbing, even for him.  The last thing Muraki wants to encounter is his dead body.  He logically knows that it was probably cremated, but the thought of his flesh decaying beneath the soil, reaching out for the soul that no longer inhabited it leaves him cold.

            Muraki shivers in the chill gray early morning light.

            Above, the birds are beginning to sing.

            Muraki shakes his head, and walks away.  If the earrings are buried with his remains, so much the safer for them.

            Behind him, Tatsumi appears for a brief second before sliding into another shadow.

***

            Muraki walks the rest of the way home.  But it's not the hotel that he's going for, nor is it Terazuma and Wakaba's house in Meifu.  Muraki is headed back toward his apartment.

            He's taking a long and meandering trail, and part of Tatsumi wants to slap him silly for taking his time, but the other wants to know where Muraki is going.  It seems aimless – at times, Muraki stops and sits for long stretches, staring at the sky above or the people as they pass.  He seems to be lost in his thoughts, not quite noticing the busy world around him.

            Finally, a few hours later, Muraki makes it back to his apartment building.  As he blindly walks by, invisible to mortal eyes (actually following Tatsumi and Terazuma's dictates for once), he fails to notice a sleek black car pulling away from the front of the building.  It's a little detail, but it doesn't really register.  After all, Muraki doesn't know anyone who's mad enough to drive in Tokyo.

            Finally, Muraki is back.  But he doesn't have any keys.  He frowns, pausing for a moment to decipher the problem.  A moment later, he disappears in a brilliant flash of light.

            Tatsumi slips out of his shadow and stands before the door.  His hand rises as if he's about to knock on the door, but he changes his mind at the last second.  Suddenly, shadows gather about him, moving beneath his feet as he silently falls into the pool of darkness.

            Muraki is walking around the rooms, not bothering to turn the light on.  The furniture's all been wrapped in packing material – it's all ready for the movers to take.  The bookshelves and cupboards are bare, and walking into his office, he notes that the desk is empty too, as are the walls.  Oriya must have taken the wall scroll, among other things, Muraki notes.  

            "Asato-neko," Muraki's voice is soft, "Where are you?"  He walks around, looking through the cat's usual hiding places before he realizes that Oriya's probably taken the cat too.

            That's when Tatsumi's patience finally breaks, and without warning, shadows pool before Muraki's feet.

            "Asato-neko?"  Tatsumi asks angrily as he steps out of the darkness. 

            "Tatsumi."  Muraki takes a step back.

            "Are you insane?"

            "Insane?  Hardly.  It's the name of my cat."

            "Asato-neko?  As I said before, are you insane?"  Tatsumi fumes at the image of Muraki naming his cat after Tsuzuki.  "Stalker."

            "I had my reasons," Muraki says, a little stiffly.  "And for that latter part, I could say the same to you."

            The two glare at each other for a long minute, as if daring the other to back down.  Finally, they both look away.

            "You cannot just go as you please," Tatsumi snaps.  "This is how partners get killed in the line of duty."

            "I never knew you cared so much," Muraki retorts.  "I thought you wanted me to get killed."

            "What I feel has nothing to do with business," Tatsumi says coldly.  "And as a matter of business, it is unacceptable for you to be walking off by yourself without telling anyone."

            "As if you'd let me go, if I asked?" Muraki's voice grows deadly.  "I have been doing my job as well as I can for the last few days, no thanks to your 'input.'  Did that soul just happen to come my direction before I could do anything about it or could it have been goaded, perhaps by a certain shadow master?" Muraki snarls.  "If you want to kill me, just do so.  At this point, there's very little I can do about that, *sempai*, and if it makes you happier to erase this earth of my miserable existence once and for all, I highly recommend that you do it now, before I change my mind and fight back."

            Tatsumi's hand moves without him realizing it, the shadows swirling around his upraised fist like an inky maelstrom.  Muraki flinches, and Tatsumi snaps back into himself, realizing what he was about to do.  Tatsumi lowers his hand, the shadows dissipating from his control. 

            "Don't do it again," Tatsumi says coolly, adjusting his glasses.  "And don't ask me twice.  Next time, I might actually kill you."

            Muraki has nothing to say to that.  With a deep sigh, he leans against the wall of his apartment, his eyes unseeingly staring at the bare walls, the packed furnishings.

            "It does you no good to come back here like this," Tatsumi says, turning away from Muraki as if his attention is pointed at the window.  He walks over to open the drapes, letting sunlight enter the dim room.  "It doesn't make it better, only worse.  You should stay away from places that you're familiar with for a while.  Eventually, everything changes and you'll be able to cope with it better when you don't recognize it anymore."

            "I see," Muraki's voice comes faintly.  Silence.  Then, "May I ask you something, Tatsumi?"

            "Yes."  Tatsumi stands looking out the window.  The morning haze is giving way to sunshine.  

            "May I be allowed to go to Kyoto once we're finished?  I promise that I will do my best to cooperate if it's possible," Muraki says, hesitation catching at the edges of his words.  "I have to apologize to someone."  

            Tatsumi stands silent.  He can feel Muraki's eyes on him.  Tatsumi suddenly remembers that something like this had happened with Sato.  He had wanted to say goodbye to his family.  Sato had said no, and Tatsumi had missed the opportunity.  By the time he managed to get around to it, after the war, half of them had died, and the others had dispersed to far-off lands in the new world.   

            "I will think about it.  We must ask Terazuma first," Tatsumi concedes.

            "I can accept that," Muraki says as he slumps against the wall.  He takes a deep breath, and straightens up.  "I suppose we should check if Terazuma and Wakaba are awake yet."

            "Let's go then."  Tatsumi says, closing the drapes carefully.  The room is returned to darkness as they both disappear without a trace.

*******

            Saki and Oriya have arrived in Kyoto.  It's early afternoon now, and Oriya's flung himself into a flurry of work, catching up on a week's worth of backlog.  Saki watches as Oriya moves through Kokakurou, his presence like that of a force of nature that somehow leaves order in its trail; details being fixed, disputes being settled, and accounts being balanced in his wake.  Oriya's offered Saki a room to stay the night, and please enjoy our hospitality here in Kyoto.  

            Saki accepts, of course.  They'll have dinner in a few hours, but for now, please come and go as you wish if you want to see the sights, or if you like, you could have tea in my office where you can view the garden.  The old maple tree is looking especially lovely this year, much more beautiful than it was last year.  

            Saki sits on the tatami-matted floor, unobtrusively drinking his tea while Oriya works.

            Saki is planning his next step.

*******

            True to his word, Muraki's come through on his promise to Wakaba.  Tonight, after the two teams spent most of the day relaxing or sleeping, they're going out to dinner.  Of course, Terazuma and Tatsumi come along as well, and since Muraki's agreed to pay the difference if they go over their allotted daily expenses, there is no complaint over the costs.  Besides, it's quite modestly priced, this restaurant that Wakaba picks.

            It's Saturday night in Tokyo, and they're at a restaurant in one of the older parts of town, in an aging high-rise overlooking the city.  It's a restaurant that Muraki's never been to but has heard of, having fallen out of favor decades ago and whose existence is owed to a dedicated circle of regulars as well as a nostalgic landlord that keeps the rent low.  

            It's the kind of restaurant that was popular in past decades – something that even Muraki's parents would have found peculiarly old-fashioned.  It's a style that was fashionable when American soldiers still patrolled Japan and the thing for smart young people to do was to go to a restaurant that served the newly imported American style food, afterwards dancing to a live band or watch as couples waltzed along the hardwood floors.

            Fast forward fifty-some years, and the spirit remains true, even if the couples are now doddering old men and old ladies, and the hardwood floor doesn't quite shine as it used to.  The Shinigami are perhaps the youngest people in the restaurant but for the staff though in truth, most of them are probably near the same age.  

            Tonight, Terazuma appears as he would without the marks of the Shikigami, thanks to one of Wakaba's ofuda spells (folded up in his pocket) obscuring the traces so that he appears to be any other normal young man.  Terazuma prefers appearing as what he really looks like – he may not like it, but no matter what he thinks of his relation to KokuShunGei, he prefers honesty to himself and the world.  Even still, once in a while he's willing to compromise, if nothing for the fact that he'd like to have dinner in peace without troubling the mortals excessively.

            The food's quite decent, and the company's pleasantly civil tonight, which comes to a bit of a surprise to Terazuma, as it seems the first evening this week that Muraki and Tatsumi haven't been at each other's throats.  They're not even glaring.  Terazuma wonders if they've come to some sort of understanding – that's his hope but he's not going to hold his breath, since the two have been perversely making things hard for each other since the moment they realized they had to work together.

            Terazuma idly wonders why they can't just get along.  For example, Kannuki and he have worked together harmoniously for decades, with nary an argument, at least nothing serious.  Terazuma thinks that it doesn't seem to make sense that Tatsumi has such a tough time – in fact, if he remembers correctly, Tatsumi had been married before he died.  Hell, even Muraki was engaged.

            This couldn't be nearly as hard as marriage or engagement, working at being partners with someone – Terazuma would know, as he feels that he's totally and completely unsuitable for marriage.  Well, there was that thing where he lived with Wakaba, but even that was mainly because of KokuShunGei's unpredictability.  When the Shikigami had first been forced onto him, Terazuma's control was a lot weaker and it would come out with blinding unpredictability, thus necessitating their cohabitation.  But still, that hardly counted.  They were like housemates who happened to work together, good friends, certainly, but it wasn't marriage.

            "Ne Hajime, do you want to dance?"  Wakaba startles Terazuma out of his thoughts.  She's smiling at him.  

            Terazuma flushes without realizing it and embarrassed, he looks away, as if the flower arrangement on the table has suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the room.  Tatsumi and Muraki look on without comment or expression, and but for the little quirk of their lips, you'd think that they hadn't noticed or heard.

            "Eh, I'd like to, Kannuki, but you know, it's the usual," Terazuma says weakly, tapping at his cheekbones above where the marks lie.  "Sorry."  He scowls, and fumbles for a cigarette before realizing he left them back in the hotel room.  

            Terazuma returns to staring at the flowers (they're plastic, and dusty looking), unwilling to meet Wakaba's eyes.  He listens without comment to Tatsumi's offer to take Wakaba dancing.  Terazuma's eyes narrow a little as Tatsumi escorts Wakaba to the dance floor, but in the end, he just sighs and says nothing.  Eventually, Terazuma wanders away from the table, leaving Muraki to sit quietly with his cup of coffee.

            Terazuma finds himself standing before the floor length windows, looking out over the city.  He wonders how things could have been different, would the city lights still sparkle the way they do now if the war had ended differently?  Would he have ever met Wakaba if he hadn't died?

            It's a pretty thought, but it's ultimately stupid, Terazuma thinks.  Time can't be changed, and neither could circumstance – the best they could do was work with what they had, even though the restrictions sometimes seemed excessive and were too often unfair.

            He listens to the band.  They're playing a mix of music, some things from when he was still alive, and some things from after.  All of it's at least thirty-some years old; music that Terazuma realizes with no small amusement would have been playing when Muraki was still in diapers.

            In the window's reflection, everything is superimposed; the restaurant interior over the exterior skyline, the dancers moving to the beat of the music, the blink of a low flying helicopter in the distance.  Terazuma can see Tatsumi and Wakaba dancing, a mirror image over the dark cityscape, the lights of the building blending into their movements so that for a moment, Terazuma isn't certain if they're here or there, outside above the city or inside the restaurant, just that they're somewhere and it shines.  Wakaba is carefully correcting Tatsumi when he missteps.  It's a charming image; the music's got a friendly and upbeat swing to it, and Terazuma's lips turn upward into a small smile at the sight before he realizes what he's doing.

            The music changes though, as the band shifts gear, and it's now a slower song, a little romantic Sinatra ditty that Terazuma's been fond of for years ever since he first heard it.  His English is laughably bad, and he can only pick out a few words here and there, but it's sung well tonight, the singer's voice sweetly sultry and he allows himself a hint of bittersweet fondness, thinking of Wakaba dancing with Tatsumi.  Terazuma closes his eyes, unwilling to watch them dance.

            "…and let me play among the stars…" The music drifts over him, and it's the only thing that he's thinking of as he follows the shape of the sound in his mind.  Terazuma imagines that he's the one dancing with her instead of Tatsumi.

            Terazuma can feel that someone's walked up to him, and for a moment, he's not sure whether he wants to open his eyes.  Terazuma thinks it's probably Muraki, probably asking about some sort of work thing, asking about when they'd get serious and go out to hunt down that last soul.  But he opens his eyes and before him, reflected in the tall window, is Wakaba.  She's by herself and smiling as she brushes her hair aside with one hand, the pink trailing ribbons entwining with the long waves of her honey-dark hair.

            "In other words…hold my hand…" 

            Behind him, Wakaba lifts her hand toward Terazuma's.  In the window that acts almost as a mirror, their reflections touch, their fingers covering each other.  Hers is small, almost childlike.  His is large enough to encompass the both of her hands easily.  Without meaning to, Terazuma smiles, quite genuinely, his face looking years younger, more open and vulnerable.  He can almost imagine that they're in another time, another place - one where they didn't die.  It's just a date between two people that like each other a lot, and if he touches her, he doesn't turn into a beast.  It's a place where maybe things could progress beyond the constraints that filled his life, and they would be free to do as they pleased.

            "You are all I long for, all I worship and adore."  The song's nearly over.  Terazuma's thoughts return to reality.  Fleeting like the music that's life is limited by its length are moments such as this when he doesn't have to think about the things that he must do, but allows himself to forget about that and think of the things he'd like to do.

            Wakaba says nothing as she walks over to stand next to him, her hand coming to rest on the glass next to his.  Their fingers are barely an inch apart.  Terazuma looks at her hand, and the urge to clasp it within his own is strong.  But he does nothing about it, and continues looking at the city lights.  She does the same.

            It's just what they do.  Looking, not touching.  

            With the end of the music comes the beginning of their night.  Terazuma and Wakaba make their way back to the table, toward Muraki and Tatsumi, who are talking over their drinks.  As Muraki and Tatsumi go to settle the bills, Terazuma walks out into the lobby, suppressing a sigh, a million little details coming to mind as to what he's going to have to do in the next few hours with the hunting of the stray soul.  As he makes his way to the elevator to push the button, someone's hand catches the edge of his sleeve, stopping his forward movement.  At his side, Wakaba stops, watching them curiously.

            "Excuse me, young man?"  An older woman, her quaking fingers entwined with the black cloth of his suit coat.  She's nearly as tall as he is – it's quite odd for someone of that generation.  Her hair is black streaked with silver, and she looks to be in her mid-to-late sixties.

            "Yes?"  Terazuma blinks, wondering who this person is and what she wants.  There's something vaguely familiar about her eyes, but he can't seem to place it.

            The woman looks to the man beside her for support, an elderly gentleman of about the same age that must be her husband.  He nods, and she looks back up at Terazuma.  

            "I'm sorry to bother you, young man but please, could you tell me what your father's name is?  You look an awful lot like a son of an old friend and I just have to know," her voice quavers.

            "Father?"  Terazuma blinks.  "Terazuma Hiromichi," he says unthinkingly, forgetting that he shouldn't tell the truth.

            The old woman suddenly lets go of his black coat.  "Terazuma Hiromichi."  Her eyes grow wide, and she clutches at her heart, tears filling her eyes.  "No.  That's not possible.  It can't be.  You're exactly the same.  It's not possible."  She's crying now, her hands coming up to wipe away the tears, and her husband's patting her shoulder soothingly, watching Terazuma with a guarded look that almost, almost verges on horror.

            Terazuma suddenly realizes where he's seen those eyes before.

            "Izumi-chan," Terazuma says breathlessly, his knees wobbling beneath him.  "Izumi-chan, is that you?"  Tentatively, he reaches out with his hands, capturing her face and turning it up to him.  She feels frail beneath his hands but underneath the wrinkles and scrimshaw of old age are the eyes of the same little sister that waved from the window the evening before he left for work.  Terazuma's eyes are brimming with tears that blur his vision but he doesn't care who sees it; he doesn't care that he's in the lobby of a restaurant and everyone's staring, wondering what would cause such a strange scene.

            "Onii-chan.  You're back," she says, her voice breaking with sobs.

            Unthinkingly, Terazuma pulls her into an embrace.  It never even occurs to Terazuma to question why nothing happened when he touched her the first time. Still, nothing happens.  His Shikigami stays perfectly dormant, as if frozen into inaction.

            "I'm sorry, Izumi-chan.  I'm so sorry."  He cries, his tears soaking into her shoulder.  "I'm sorry I left you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.  Please forgive me, Izumi-chan."

            Behind him, Wakaba absently brushes away her tears.  She's so happy for him that she can't help but cry.  

            Beyond them, the music continues to play.

*******

            It's past midnight.  Tatsumi suggested that Terazuma take the night off, but he refuses, saying that the work would do him good.  They're searching within a half-mile radius of where they last saw the missing soul since it should still be bound to the area.  Wakaba offered the use of her tracker-spirit, but Tatsumi declined, saying that they couldn't rely on her help because in the future, since neither Muraki nor he had the ability to produce a tracker spirit, practice now with what they had was essential. 

            Terazuma walks along beside Muraki as they search the streets, senses attuned for the lost soul.  Terazuma is no good at this – he couldn't rely on sensing it on a spiritual level – he wouldn't feel it that way unless the damned thing bit him in the ass.  But his hearing is good, and his eyes are sharp.  

            Wakaba is off with Tatsumi searching the opposite side of the perimeter.  The two groups are walking in an inward spiral toward the site of the death.  It's tedious and labor intensive, but it's what makes up the bulk of field investigations.  Not everyone had the damnedest luck to have clues literally falling into their laps.  But Terazuma doesn't mind – he's intensely happy.  Happier than he's been in a long time.  It puts Muraki on edge, because he's not sure what to make of this Terazuma that won't stop smiling.

            "So you're going to Kyoto tomorrow?" Terazuma asks, breaking the silence.  They've been walking quietly for about an hour now, and it's starting to get boring.

            "Yes.  Tatsumi and Wakaba have decided that they're coming with me," Muraki says, looking a little irritated.  He's marking off points on a map of the neighborhood, checking things off building by building.  It's incredibly boring work, and Muraki is starting to get impatient.  "Will you be seeing your sister then?"

            "Yeah.  I guess we have a lot to catch up on," Terazuma says.  "It's been a long time.  Hey, isn't that the signal?"   

            "Hmm?"  Muraki looks up.  "I don't hear anything."

            "Well, I do.  Come on, let's go," Terazuma says.  "You can tell where Tatsumi is, right?"

            Muraki nods.  "We'll teleport then," he says and steps close to Terazuma.  It's almost close enough to make him lose his good mood, but it's purely professional.  Muraki places his hand on Terazuma's shoulder, and closes his eyes.  In a flash of bright light, they're gone, leaving nothing but a few brilliant white feathers in their wake that disappear before they hit the ground.

***

            They're chasing it through a deserted park.  The soul stands out like a torch in the dark – literally.  The fire flickers up and down its form, delineating the figure in a haze of glowing fire.  Apparently the man had been mentally ill – he had doused himself in gasoline and ignited the vapors, immolating his body and half the apartment building before it was finally put out.  The fire continued, though, a manifestation of the strong spiritual power he had been born with.  For the last hour, he's been busily immolating various things in the park from benches to trees to trashcans, as he's realized he's dead and no mortals can do anything about his abilities.  Unfortunately for him, it drew the attention of the Shinigami.

            Terazuma and Wakaba fly alongside Muraki and Tatsumi, following along mainly as observers.  Terazuma is shouting encouragement at Muraki while he tries to get a fix on the soul's erratic movements and trap it within one of his mirror circles while Tatsumi holds back to see if Muraki will be able to actually pull it off by himself.  A few days ago, before they left Meifu, Terazuma allowed Muraki to use the hallway closet to cast a conduit, opening up a gate for Muraki's powers so that he could draw at them from Chijou.  They've been testing and practicing on and off since the first day to make certain that the circle was set properly, and tonight they're really putting Muraki's newly minted Shinigami status to the test, seeing if his abilities are up to par.

            Wild bursts of violet light fill the park as Muraki tries to put a fix on the soul.  It can move faster than any human can, and without the weight of a body, it's faster than even the Shinigami, so Muraki is cursing under his breath as he chases after the spirit.  He leaps forward, switching from running to flying so that he can get a smoother shot, his black coat flapping behind him.

            Without warning, the soul's forward momentum is switched and it's turned its direction back, apparently deciding that a merry chase isn't quite good enough to keep it happy.  Before Muraki can do anything about it, it heads directly for him, the unnatural fire swirling dangerously before it in a massive column.  Muraki can feel the heat growing as he tries to change course.  

            At the last second, Muraki is suddenly enveloped in blackness.

            Muraki is wondering where he is now, because a moment ago, he was facing a possible roasting, and now, he's floating in darkness.  It's so pitch black here that he can't tell what's going on – even as his eyes adjust, all that it looks like is a blackness that swirls with motion.  There's not even a floor – he's just somehow being held up but not in a way that he can tell where the pressure is – the dictates of gravity don't seem to apply.  

            Muraki can't tell if he's floating or falling.  When he tries to pull off a spell to teleport out of wherever he is, he realizes that he's cut off completely from his circle and is basically powerless.  Muraki is starting to panic.  

            "What's going on?"  Muraki looks about in confusion, hands reaching out in the darkness.  There's nothing there to touch, and nothing to see.  Muraki's fear grows as he realizes that there is the possibility that he was actually and truly killed this time – sent on to the true death from which no Shinigami returns.  "Oh shit."

            "What do you think you're doing?"  Tatsumi's voice comes out of the enveloping darkness.  

            "Tatsumi."  Muraki hasn't ever felt so happy saying the man's name.

            "Who else?  Welcome to the shadow dimension," Tatsumi's hand reaches out and clasps Muraki's shoulder.  Muraki clutches at Tatsumi's hand gratefully.  Tatsumi's fingers twitch, but he doesn't pull his hand away.

            "Thank god it's you.  I thought I was dead," Muraki says gratefully.  His relief is so strong that it doesn't even cross his mind to hide it.

            "You were quite close this time," Tatsumi's voice says, with a hint of amusement.  However, his tone grows serious.  "But never, ever, EVER try something like that again.  If you want to face it off directly, you must have your partner back up your actions, or else you'll likely be harmed.  Is that clear?"

            "Undeniably," Muraki answers. 

            "This time, we'll do it differently.  I'll back you up and it slow down so you can contain it.  Understand?"

            "Yes.  But one thing – was all of this to show me that we must work together?"

            "I'm sure that's not the case," Tatsumi says, but Muraki can hear the smile in his voice.  "Now then, ready?"

            "I am."

            "Get ready to start moving toward your left, I'm going to drop us out of this place," Tatsumi says, loosening his grip on Muraki and giving him a shove.  "Now go!"

            Muraki hits the ground in a rolling tangle before he reorients himself, and gets his bearings.  To his right, Tatsumi's shadows are condensing in a roiling vortex before Tatsumi's outstretched hands, slashing and feinting at the fiery attacks of the soul.  It's managed to stop dodging and is fighting for its existence as Tatsumi's shadows surround it with ever increasing pressure.

            "What the hell are you doing?!" Terazuma's voice comes through.  "Stop watching, moron, and help him!"

            Automatically, Muraki's hands come up before he thinks, and he's summoning the circle, violet fire flaring around the soul, containing its darting thrusts.  At the same time, hidden in a closet in Meifu, the conduit resonates in perfect harmony, supplying Muraki with the power that he needs.  

            It's a perfect cast.  The soul slams itself against the confining walls of the spell, causing the violet light to flare and spark.

            "Hey, good job, kid," Terazuma and Wakaba make their way over to see the results of Muraki's spell.

            "Mm-hmm, it's a catch," Wakaba beams.  "You know what to do now, right?"

            "I do," Muraki says, watching the soul writhe within the confines of the spell, the trace of an ethereal howl slipping past the barrier.  Muraki takes off his coat.  "May I trouble you?" he asks Wakaba.

            "Sure, no problem," Wakaba says, taking the coat.  Muraki rolls up the right sleeve of his shirt.

            "Good idea," Tatsumi says in approval.  "This way you won't damage your clothes."

            Muraki frowns in concentration, and touches the edge of his spell with the tip of his fingers, carefully unweaving only enough to let his hand through.  It takes him a minute to part the threads, and in a flash, he's in, quickly summoning the ability that sends the soul on its way.

            Muraki pulls his hand back with a snap as the spell shatters, leaving nothing but a slightly circular singe mark on the ground to show that it had ever existed.  The whole process had taken less than ten seconds, but Muraki's hand is burnt black where the soul's fire had touched it.

            His breath hisses through his teeth, as he shakes his hand, pain coursing through his arm from the scorched flesh.

            "Wah, Kazutaka-san!  Are you all right?"

            "That…was not fun," Muraki says through gritted teeth, clutching at his wrist above where his hand was burned.  "Damnit."

            "Eh, he'll live," Terazuma says to Wakaba.  He walks up to Muraki gives him a rough pat on the back, almost knocking Muraki over.    "Now come on, we should get you a slice of pie to celebrate, Mister 'I'm a real Shinigami now, look what I can do.'  Aren't there some 24 hour places that serve dessert around here?"  

            "I'm sure that will make everything better," Muraki snarls, as he bites back a cry of pain.

            "Sure, pie fixes everything."  Terazuma grins, as he and Wakaba start heading out of the park.  "Banana, cherry, apple, chocolate…what else?"

            "Boston cream!"  Wakaba's voice adds.  "And raspberry!  Ooh, pecan!"

            Terazuma and Wakaba's voices grow fainter as they walk toward entrance of the park.

            "Good job," Tatsumi says, watching the two go.  "But next time, I expect that it'll take you less time to contain it."

            "Right."  Muraki winces as the itchy healing process begins pulsing through his hand.  He flexes it to keep from scratching at it.  The sensation is maddening.

            "What are you two waiting for?"  Wakaba shouts from the park entrance, waving at them from the distance.  "Hajime-chan promised to pay for a la mode!"

            "Did not!  When did I say that?!" 

            "Waaah!  Hajime-chan is being scaaary!"

            Even as his hand throbs unpleasantly and he's starting to shiver since Wakaba still has his coat, for the first time since Muraki started his life as a Shinigami, everything seems…well…just fine.  Muraki manages something of a smile as he and Tatsumi hurry to catch up with Terazuma and Wakaba.  

***

            The next day, Wakaba, Tatsumi, and Muraki are on their way to Kyoto. 

            It's really a shame that neither of the two men can teleport distances longer than a few miles at the most – Muraki's limit is two people, including himself, and while Tatsumi can envelop more than a few people easily, he can't move them farther than perhaps a half a mile at best.  Even flying isn't a suitable option, with the distance being further than 300 miles between the two cities.  Though a quick return to Meifu would be the easiest (and cheapest) way of going to Kyoto, even though it's Sunday they'd still be expected to report in if they returned.  So, the train it is.

            Tatsumi wants to save on the ticket, but Muraki insists on the bullet train.  Wakaba doesn't mind either way.  They spend a good ten minutes debating the various points of time versus economy, and eventually, they settle via rock-paper-scissors, at Wakaba's suggestion.  Tatsumi wins, and they'll take the slower train.  Unfortunately, it seems as if there's a problem with that line, so they end up on the bullet train anyway.

            The train ride to Kyoto is uneventful, though they spend most of it figuring out a good excuse for why they have to go to Kyoto, so they can get reimbursed for the cost of the tickets.

            It's turning silly.

            "Giant monster attack?" Wakaba giggles.

            "That won't work, Wakaba – we're going to Kyoto, not Tokyo," Muraki says with a smile.  "What about hungry ghosts?"

            "Oooh, good idea – we're going to Kyoto to make sure they get dinner," Wakaba laughs.

            "You two," Tatsumi shakes his head, "should be more serious about this.  Don't you know what they do to Shinigami that lie on their expense reports?"

            "Eh?"

            "Depending on Enma's mood, either one of the hot hells or one of the cold hells.  Being force-fed molten metal, or impaled on ice-cold swords, that sort of thing."

            "Waaah!  That's awful!"  Wakaba shivers.  "Are you joking?"

            "I never joke," Tatsumi's face grows very grave indeed, giving him a cold and frightening look.  Muraki blinks, unsure of what to do. "Besides, the two of you haven't thought of the most obvious explanation," Tatsumi continues, pushing up his glasses, half-obscuring his face with his fingers.  "Extraterrestrial invasion!"

             Wakaba's laughter makes their fellow passengers look at them curiously.

            It's late afternoon when they arrive in Kyoto.  The Shinigami walk through the neatly gridded streets until they reach Kokakurou.  

            Autumn in Kyoto.  The memory's still fresh upon Tatsumi's mind, and he feels a sense of misgiving as they return to the scene of last year's crimes.  Hisoka with the blade, his green eyes shining with anger, the extraordinarily fast movements of Muraki's friend – Tatsumi suppresses a shiver as they walk, the surrounding hills afire with the crimson and gold of autumn.  Tatsumi thinks that it's odd how for the last few hours, Tatsumi has been able to forget that hidden behind Muraki's charming exterior is a cold-blooded murderer whose crimes in life put him beyond the pale of redemption.  How he could look at Muraki without thinking of the man that nearly drove one of his closest friends to suicide, but instead see him as yet another Shinigami.

            Tatsumi frowns at the thought, strengthening his resolve as he watches Muraki and Wakaba's friendly chatter while they make their way through the streets.  He mustn't let Muraki distract or confuse him, especially here in Kyoto where they will be playing on Muraki's terms.  Tatsumi is wishing that with this visit, Muraki could perhaps tie up some loose ends in his life so that hopefully he can pass on.

            They enter through one of the back passages, Tatsumi's shadows easily unlocking the gate that they passed through almost a year ago.  Tatsumi blinks, remembering that night when he did the same thing, neatly manipulating the shadow inherent in the lock to turn the tumblers and open the door.

            Muraki leads them further into the core of the rambling complex, invisibly bypassing an occasional servant, open doors and long corridors, the beauty that brushes her midnight hair in the shade of the bare branched sakura tree.  Finally they make their way into the inner garden.  The bamboo font's rhythmic motion signals the passing of time as it clocks against the pressure of the water.  

            Muraki climbs the short stairs up to the wooden platform on which the building rests and toeing off his shoes, enters Oriya's quarters.  Tatsumi and Wakaba stay back, waiting politely to the side.  Wakaba points up – Tatsumi's attention is momentarily caught by a flock of migrating birds winging their way across the sky.

            "Oriya!"  Muraki's voice is a gasp of surprise.  Wakaba and Tatsumi look at each other, and in an instant of decision, they make their way quickly over to the open door, clattering up the stairs.

            Oriya's asleep at his desk, his head pillowed in his arms, his long dark hair loose about him.  Muraki is shaking him, but he's not waking up.

            "Oriya?  Oriya, please wake up," Muraki is looking upset.  He knows Oriya is a light sleeper and that Oriya never naps if he can help it, even when he's deadly tired.  It's an unnaturally deep sleep.  Nothing Muraki does seems to be able to wake him.  Muraki looks about the room, looking for a sign, a hint, a clue.  There's an empty glass near Oriya's hand and beneath it, a folded scrap of paper addressed to Oriya.

            "Mmm," Oriya wavers at the edge of consciousness.  "It's too noisy.  Stop that, it's annoying."

            Muraki grabs the empty glass, running his finger along the bottom of the cup and tasting the residue.  There's a tiny bit of grit to the water – it's almost imperceptible.  Muraki's eyes widen – Oriya's not the type to ever take medication that could sedate him.  Could he have been drugged?  But who would have done such a thing?  And for what purpose?

            "Oriya, what did you drink?"  Muraki demands.  "Oriya?"

            "What is it, Saki?" Oriya complains, his voice drifting for a moment.

            "Saki?"  Muraki blinks.  "What are you talking about?"

            "Saki, I'm tired," Oriya's voice murmurs drowsily.  The fingers of his right hand move vaguely, as if a half-hearted attempt at shooing Muraki away.  "I promised we'd talk more, but right now, let me…just let me..." Oriya drifts back off to sleep, slumped in his chair.

            Muraki's eyes search the desk again before his attention catches on the note.  He reaches over Oriya and fumbles it from underneath the cup, and unfolds it.  The writing is a tidy scrawl.  Over half a lifetime, yet he can still recognize the writing.  The note nearly slides from his nerveless fingers before he realizes what he's doing.

            "Oriya-san.  I'm truly sorry to leave unexpectedly but you fell asleep and then I was paged – there's been some sort of emergency at the laboratory that they need me to work on.  Thank you for your hospitality, and for taking me to see Satomi's grave yesterday.  Will I see you in Tokyo sometime soon?  You have my number.  Shidou."

            The note crumples in his hand.

            Muraki is shivering so badly that he can't do anything but try to remember to breathe.  Behind him, Wakaba and Tatsumi look on in surprise, but before they can say anything, he seems to have managed to find some sort of strange inner balance.

            "Saki," Muraki's voice catches on the name.  His eyes have a desperate gleam to them, and then he smiles, a brittle, frightening thing.  His voice takes on a different quality.  "Saki."  Muraki sounds almost…happy.

            Muraki's hand shakes as he clutches the edge of the desk.

*******

To be continued…

Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei belongs to Matsushita Yoko

Thanks: A massive thanks to my prereaders, RubyD, Danceswithelvis, and Cyrus Marriner.  These guys are awesome.  Go read their fics on fanfiction.net!  You can find Cyrus' work listed under Rowsdower, DWE's work listed under Docky, and RubyD's work listed under RubyD.  They're chock full of neat ideas and good writing.  Oh, and just to let you know – Cyrus is the one who originally thought of the idea of bringing Saki back.  :p  Thanks also to you, the reader, for reading so far.  Snuzzle!

Author's notes: Fruit inspired by the farmer's market in Westwood.  I live in Los Angeles (originally from Ventura) so all the places that Saki talks about are about 30-60 miles northwest of the city (roughly a half-hour to an hour's drive).  We actually have a fig tree at my parents' house – I figured it'd be a nice change of pace to have a smutty fruit scene involving something other than strawberries or bananas. ^_-   The song that's playing at the restaurant is "Fly me to the moon," which should be familiar to people who've seen Evangelion.  I'm sorry I didn't get to Saki's plans yet (whoops) but things will hopefully be revealed soon.  As for questions regarding why Saki is still alive, I can tell you that Satomi, who was an accomplished cloning scientist, rescued Saki when he was young.  The rest, I'll leave to the next chapter and your own imagination.  :D  It'll probably be a little longer than usual before the next chapter comes out, since I'll be going out of town.  But I'll try my best. 

Next chapter: The True Death, Part 3: Checking the book of the dead.  Saki's plan unfolds as Oriya is forced to make a decision. 

No omake this time.  Another side story.  Title lines borrowed from from Miyazawa Kenji's "Eiketsu no Asa" (Morning of Final Farewell).  Unknown translator.

My little sister, so brave.

            Terazuma Izumi turned 64 years old this year.

            When she was nine years old, on the night of August 5, 1945, she was kidnapped.

            Down the street lived a neighbor.  His name was Watanabe Arata, and his mother had just died of old age, leaving him alone in the world.  

            It was the last straw.  

            Watanabe-san had a daughter and wife.  They used to live in Tokyo where they had a modest house in a nice neighborhood.  But then, the Americans firebombed the capital, and tens of thousands were killed.

            A heavy missile exploded near his house.  What wasn't shattered was burned, including his family.  Watanabe-san somehow managed to survive.  He didn't want to, though.

            That was in March.  After that, he moved back to Hiroshima to live with his mother, a tiny wizened woman with stark white hair.  Watanabe-san had been a quiet man always, mild in character, meek in tone.  He worked as an accounting clerk and had an exceptionally dull life, up until the moment he cradled the broken and burnt bodies of his wife and child in his arms.  She was only nine, the same age as Terazuma Izumi.  Her charred body had been sheltered in the arms of his wife – the kitchen had collapsed on them, crushing them before the fire swept through.  He couldn't do anything about it.

            After that, something in him had gone wrong.  His mind was tormented, wracked with guilt.  Eventually, he believed that somehow, somewhere they were still alive, hidden in a safe place.  If only he could find them.  It gave him a will to live.

            And that's when he saw Terazuma Izumi.  She lived down the street with her brother.  At first, he used to imagine that it was really his own daughter; after all, they had the same name.  Funny coincidence, wasn't it, at first?  But then, he started believing it.

            It maddened him, that some strange man had stolen his daughter.  At one point, it crossed his mind to murder the young man and steal his daughter back.  But he had enough reason to keep those thoughts to himself, for the young man worked for the police, and waited for the right moment, watching, always watching.

            The right time came the night of August 5, 1945.  He waited for the young man to leave to work, crept into the house through an unlocked window, and took Izumi – his Izumi.  She was too afraid of him to do anything but comply, as he smashed furniture and glass to make it appear as if a robbery, cutting himself on the sharp broken edge of a mirror.  Later, Izumi had wrapped it up for him, all the while crying.  For a girl her age, the experience was as shattering as the broken glass that littered the Terazuma home.

            They had taken the midnight train out of the city, headed north on the long ride toward Tokyo.  It was all part of the plan.  They were going home.  She trembled under his comforting pats before finally falling asleep, exhausted.  He told everyone she was his daughter – look, my precious Izumi-chan is still alive.  Tears of joy streaked down his cheeks as he watched the scenery fly by, the nearly full moon lighting up the countryside beautifully.  He had his Izumi-chan back.

I too will continue ahead straight onward.

            At first, she was afraid.  Horribly so.  Because what would happen when her brother came home and she wasn't there?  Then no one would take care of him, and he'd be lonely.  She cried when Watanabe-san wasn't looking.  All she wanted was her tall Hajime-niichan back, to tell her that everything was going to be all right, and swing her up into his arms.

            But then, news spread.  A massive, horrible, terrible thing had happened in Hiroshima.  No one knew exactly what happened, only that everyone, everyone was dead.  The mysterious American bomb had exploded within less than a quarter mile of their house.

            Death.  Before then, Izumi had never really understood what the word meant.  She had always lived knowing that her parents had died before her, but it never really registered, because there was always Hajime, and Hajime promised that he would protect her, always and forever.  But after Hiroshima, she knew exactly what it meant for her.  

            Hajime was never coming back.  And that when she waved to him from the window that last night, and he told her to lock it but then she forgot, it meant that it was the last time they'd ever see each other again in this life.

            But bravely, she continued forward.  There was nothing she could do about it, and she had nowhere else to go.   Pretending to be the mad but kind Watanabe-san's daughter was hard at first, but he was like a real father to her, so even after he died decades later, she never changed her name back to Terazuma.  A year after the incident, he had come back to his senses, and apologized to her, but it didn't matter anymore, because after the war, they were all that each other had.  In a way they were both orphans, both unintentional survivors, and Izumi had always felt some amount of gratitude for his crime, because it had accidentally saved her life.  

            Watanabe-san's long dead.  Izumi has now been married for over forty years, and has three children, all of whom have their own children.  She's a grandmother four times over.  

            Today, her brother's coming to see her.  She doesn't know how it's possible.  She doesn't really know why, either.  But it doesn't matter, because Hajime's back now.

            After all, he promised, and she always believed in him, no matter what.

            A knock.  It's her Hajime-niichan.

            Izumi opens the door.

Questions?  Comments?  Suggestions or corrections?  cori_ohki@hotmail.com.  Thank you very much for reading!


	7. The True Death, Part 3

The True Death, Part 3

Summary: The Shinigami arrive in Kyoto as Hisoka and Tsuzuki join the hunt for Saki.  

Spoilers through Kyoto arc.

Note: Please excuse any formatting problems – I'm trying to upload this quickly before I leave the country (be back on the 22nd of July).  When I get a chance, I will fix any formatting issues.  

Saki

            Good morning.  I didn't think you'd be awake this early.

            I'm glad you're doing well.  At least, as well as can be expected.  Sorry that it's so cold in here, but it can't be helped.  It keeps the systems from overheating.

So.  I want to let you know what's been going on recently.  

            I have the chip.  Oh, don't be so upset with me.  What my blossom doesn't know won't hurt him.  You see, it's one of those delicate situations – if I had asked, I could have chanced the possibility of him refusing me, and becoming suspicious.  If I had waited, he could have disposed of or moved what I need.  And really, I do need Kazutaka's research so very much.  I've been waiting and planning for years for this moment.

            Hmm?  That's right, I never told you.

            As you recall, my brother inherited files from our paternal grandfather.  You know he has two copies.  One's the original hard copy, which as far as my inquiries have taken me, is in a safety-deposit box in a bank in Tokyo.  Not entirely accessible.  The other, a microchip backup, he kept with him at all times.  Including all his other important research.  

            Which brings me here to you.  You're going to help me with the data extraction, right?   Oh, please, don't give me that face…besides; aren't you getting bored here by yourself?  I promise you that things will change once we get this data extraction done, but you have to make the first step.  What's your choice?

            Well then, here's the microchip.  I had to clean it because it had somehow gotten bloody, but it should function correctly.  Yes, blood.  Please don't worry; no one was hurt.  It was like this when I got it.

I hope you can extract what I need, because it was a real piece of work to get this.  Ah, Oriya.  I truly hope that he won't be too angry with me.  But I left him a little something that I think he'll appreciate, in case he ever checks for what I took.

Please understand that I would like this information as soon as possible.  I trust that you won't damage it to protect Kazutaka, because I can assure you that consequences along those lines would be quite fatal for your future health and well-being.  After all, as you can see, I have a laboratory full of rather ingenious viruses and bacterium that I've engineered, and certainly no humans to test them on.  

In any case, I've hit a particular stage in my work where this information is very vital.  Extracting some decades old paperwork for me shouldn't affect your sense of ethics.  Loyalty to the dead is sorely misplaced – you should think about the living and yourself, for once.

Isn't that better? 

*******

Hisoka

            Monday morning in Meifu.  The sun's out, the birds sing, and me…well, I'm kicking Tsuzuki's door.

            "WAKE UP, BAKAAAA!"  

            Lovely.

            "Mmm, I'm awake, I'm awake…" A disheveled, half-dressed Tsuzuki opens the door groggily.  His hair is sticking up in all sorts of random directions, and his shirt is buttoned up half-heartedly.  "Is it time to go to work already?"  

            "Yes!  It's already 7:30 A.M."  I point at the clock in his living room.  "Even if there's nothing going on in the office, we shouldn't be late."

            Tsuzuki yawns.  "7:30?  That means we still have some time.  Wanna come in?"

            "Well, I really think that we…wah?"

            It's a sudden embrace.  And a very thorough kiss.

            Tsuzuki releases me.  

            "Good morning, Hisoka," he says with a wink, as he wanders off to finish dressing.

            "G-good morning."

***

            So now he's grumbly.  This is mainly because I insisted that we go to work, even though he kept saying something about calling in sick and then spending the day in bed.  I sort of think I know what he's referring to, but really, I don't want to know.  I think.  Okay, don't consider it anymore, Kurosaki, because you're going to make yourself blush.  Gyah.

            Since that day I slept over a few weekends ago, we've gotten a lot closer.  I guess we're at that stage where we do that whole kissing and hugging thing a lot more than people who are just friends, but that's pretty much it.  

I think some people might call this dating.

            Not that I have a problem with how it's going.  I have a feeling that well…um…you know, *other* stuff won't happen for a while.  Mainly because we're both a little bit skittish.  

            So we're walking to the general administration building, and he's pouting.  It's sort of cute, but it's really beginning to irritate me a little.  I'm not much of a morning person, even if I do get up obscenely early when I have to, and feeling him be so displeased so early makes me feel like it could throw my day off if I don't do something about it.

            "Here," I say.  I stick out my hand toward him without looking.

            "Hi~so~kaaaa."  His voice has a ring of pleasure to it as he grasps my hand, entwining his warm fingers with mine.  His hand is soft, but for the slightly roughened spots on his fingers where he handles the ofuda.  I can feel his happiness come bubbling forth like the opening of a champagne bottle.  It's…well, sparkly.

            I smile, a little, inadvertent smile.  His happiness is really contagious, so much so that you don't need to be an empath to pick up on it.

            I think it's going to be a really, really nice day.

            Hey, I wonder if the other divisions are back yet.

***

            "Oh, look who managed to drag himself into the office this morning." Terazuma's at the photocopier, making extra copies of the request forms.  "How's slacking, slacker?"

            "Shut up," Tsuzuki snarls as he sits at his desk.  His annoyance is like a slap in the face.  I sit down in the desk that faces him, wondering if this is going to end in property damage.  "What's your problem, freak?  I thought you were babysitting in Tokyo."

            "Now now…" Wakaba interrupts as she walks into the office with some files, which she hands over to Terazuma for copying.  "Hajime, apologize.  Tsuzuki, if you talk like that to Hajime, it'll hurt my feelings…"

            "Ah, sorry, sorry," Tsuzuki says, suitably contrite.

            "Yeah, sorry you're dead weight in this department," Terazuma mutters.  

            "Hajime!"

            "Fine, my apologies.  But I've got work to do, unlike *some* people, so slackers had better stay out of the way," Terazuma says as he adds more paper to the copier.

            "Hey, what are you two working on?" I say, before Tsuzuki can respond.  Hopefully, if I can't put out the fires, I can at least keep them from getting out of control.  "Are you still helping with those Tokyo cases?"

            "Yeah, it got complicated," Terazuma says, as he presses the buttons on the machine, making certain that the settings are correct.  "We spent all night last night doing research with the Gushoushin.  Muraki's still there going over the final details of the case before we head out.  I need to get this done so we can get an appointment at the death registry before noon so we can go to Kyoto and interview Muraki's friend."

            "On a Sunday?  Is it an emergency?"  The air's filled with a seething tension.  I better keep the questions coming if I don't want them to blow something else up.  I'm sort of fond of this desk, and the fact that my head's attached to my body.  Sometimes I wonder why the Chief doesn't just send these two idiots to counseling or something, because their rivalry has gotten out of hand at least a few times in their history.

            "Sort of.  We found out last night that Muraki's brother is still alive.  Apparently that whole not staying dead thing runs in the family," Terazuma says as he finishes up the copies.  "So we decided we should start hauling ass on this new case so that the kid doesn't go batshit on us and start making things a lot messier for everyone."

            "Muraki's brother…" Tsuzuki blinks, astonished.  "But I thought he was dead."

            "Yeah, and thus the registry," Terazuma says, as he stacks the papers.  "Now I gotta get this to Tatsumi and get this stuff filled out, so you guys have a nice day, okay?" he says as he leaves with Wakaba.  

            With that, we're left alone, just the two of us.  Like we have been for the past week.

            "Well, that was definitely…" Tsuzuki starts.

            "Odd," I finish.  "You know what's going to happen if Muraki finds his brother, don't you?"

            "Yeah.  He's going to kill him," Tsuzuki says. "Well, again."

            "What if it's not his brother?" I say, leaning back in my chair.  "What if they're being tricked?"

            "Well…in either case…Muraki's going to kill him once he sees him," Tsuzuki says thoughtfully.  "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

            "That someone should go warn this guy that his murderous half-brother's not as dead as everyone thinks and wants to kill him?"  I ask.  Tsuzuki's thoughts are as palpable as if he had voiced them out loud.

            "We could do it." Tsuzuki's eyes have an excited gleam.  His enthusiasm is like a tingly prickle.

            "How?  We're not on the case."  

            "We could volunteer to help look for the guy.  Tokyo's a big city.  That takes their chances of running into this guy down by a third if we join.  Maybe half, if Terazuma and Wakaba are only supposed to stick with Tatsumi and Muraki." 

            "I don't think Tatsumi would let us.  We'd have to be working with Muraki, for one.  And it would cost extra for us to get housing and meals in Tokyo…"

            Tsuzuki looks thoughtful.  I can hear the plot bubbles bouncing around in his head.

            "We could get around Tatsumi.  All we have to do is get permission from the Chief for the budget.  Since Tatsumi's no longer the department secretary, he can't control how things are spent."  

            "But what about getting permission from Tatsumi?  I don't think he's going to be happy if we just barged into his case," I say.  

            "That's easy.  We'll just ask Muraki," Tsuzuki says with a finality that makes me wonder if he's really thought this through.  

            "Easy.  Right."  Tsuzuki's radiating confidence.  I blink.  "I don't get it."

            "As long as we have permission from one of the partners, it doesn't matter which one, because they're supposed to have an equal say in things," Tsuzuki responds.

            "That wasn't what I was talking about.  I meant, how are we going to go ask Muraki?"  I ask, confused.  "Seriously.  What if he tries to…you know…" I gesture.

            "That's the beauty of it," Tsuzuki says with a wink.  "I'll use it against him." He rummages through his desk and pulls out a comb, and starts running it through his hair.  

            "Eh?!" I stand up, knocking the chair back.

            "Go talk to the Chief.  I'll be back in a few minutes…" Tsuzuki says, as he walks out, preening at his hair.  "I'm sure it'll be easy!"

            Man, he's stupid.  I start running down the hall after him.  "Wait, Tsuzuki!  Not without me!"

***

            "Shh…" Tsuzuki says.  "I'm going in."  I stand in the hallway, peeking in.  Muraki's sitting at one of the computer workstations with his back to the door, staring intently at the screen.  There's a bunch of data flying by on the monitor, and from here, I can see the name of the file at the top left-hand corner of the screen – Shidou Saki.  

            Tsuzuki makes his way in, careful not to make too much noise as he sneaks up on Muraki.  I see him pause, just a moment before he's ready to talk, and I can feel himself steeling up the nerves, because otherwise, he's fluttery and twitchy.  Muraki, on the other hand, feels like a muzzy drone of concentration, mixed with an eerie chill and something really dark and unpleasant.  I withdraw my senses as soon as I touch that…yuck.  Makes my head feel like I just dipped it in tar or something.

            Tsuzuki passes by Muraki, casually bumping into him as he walks by.  I almost groan.  About as subtle as a flying hammer, Tsuzuki, I think to myself.

            "Oh, hi," Tsuzuki says, looking suitably nervous.  Well, he's pretty nervous anyway.  What possessed him to do something this ridiculous?  

            Muraki's startled out of his reverie.  He looks up at Tsuzuki, and for a moment it seems as if he's trying to place him.  "Ah, good morning.  Tsuzuki-san."  His eyes go back to the screen.

            Tsuzuki blinks.  I don't think he's used to being ignored by Muraki.

            "Ah…ne, ne, Muraki.  I heard that you and Tatsumi have been having some problems with finding a suspect in Tokyo," Tsuzuki says, picking the most neutral terms possible.  His voice quavers a little with anxiety.  Muraki turns to look up at Tsuzuki, pushing his chair back a little as if to get a better look, his hand wandering up to adjust his glasses.

            "Yes, that's right," Muraki says.  There's a slight hint of suspicion radiating off of him.  "Why?"  His eyes keep darting back to the monitor.  Man, that information must be completely amazing to keep Muraki half-distracted.  Now he's returned to staring at the monitor.

            "Well, Hisoka and I were wondering if we could volunteer to help," Tsuzuki says, as he places his hand on the desk, leaning forward toward Muraki.  Now that I notice, he's taken off his tie, unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, and is showing some skin.  Holy shit.  

            Muraki, however, has already started scrolling the data back down again.  "Mm, do as you like," he says absently, as his mouse clicks away.  I get the feeling that Muraki only realizes that someone's asked him a question, and not exactly what that question is.  "If you need me, I'll be in here."

            Well, that was…damn.  Bloodless.  Guess it's time to go talk to the Chief.

*******

Muraki

            Everything.  Is.  Just.  Fine.  

            Deep breaths, Kazutaka.  Deep breaths.  Mustn't let the Shinigami know that something's gone terribly awry.  

            An interruption a few minutes ago…was it…yes, Tsuzuki.  But it doesn't matter, because I don't need him anymore.  Nothing matters, my dear brother, my dear, sweet Saki, but for the finding of you.  Yes, that's right.  In time, keep breathing, yes, breathing, in time I will find you, and make sure that the world will be cleansed of your godforsaken existence. 

            These files tell me of everything about you up until the moment you died, or should have died, let me say.  Because someone has obviously been tampering with the system, letting the dead live when they shouldn't have.  It's extremely troublesome – I really must do something about this.  I think that I shall see about contacting my Sakaki – perhaps he still has some of the implements with which I entrusted him.  

I think that I will enjoy flaying you, Saki.  That would be a nice start.  There are some awfully good techniques that I know that keep a man from bleeding to death, even as his skin is removed inch by inch.

            And then, this business with Oriya.  I don't know what you've been doing to him, but you should be thankful that he's merely sleeping – anything else would have made your future torments even more unbearable.  He is still asleep, I believe.  We placed wards on him so that if anything changes, we'll know.  Thanks, of course, to that girl – she's quite adept at such matters.  Now, it's only a matter of waiting, waiting, waiting. 

            Saki.  Your younger self looks at me with such a pacific visage, eyes pleasantly mellow, a little smile at the edge of your mouth.  I'd love to remove that, permanently, along with every future smile.  It's amazing what vivisection can do to a man.  Oh, of course, I've never had the opportunity to try it myself, but really, you should go over Grandfather's files someday – he has some rather interesting data on that.  And perhaps, given some time, I'll have the chance to try my hand at it.

            You see, Saki, the deck is stacked against you this time.  I'm a little different now, a lot stronger, and far less mortal.  You'll see.  

            I'm playing to win this time, brother.  And I'll make sure that you lose.

            First, we must visit the keeper of the death registry to make certain that you're really alive, and not some cunningly disguised conman out to trouble Oriya.  But I know you must be alive, because I can feel it.  Your existence grates against me like the slough of sandpaper against the grain of wood. 

            Well, I suppose I'll be going now.  I've an appointment.

*******

Terazuma

            "Hey."  The word is drawled out by a voice laced with pleasure.  Muraki blinks, as if dragged out of somnambulistic daze.  He had been mindlessly following Terazuma to this place that lies just outside of the edge of Meifu, the Castle of Candles, passing room after room of flickering flames.  At one time, it seemed as though he saw the visage of Saki grinning at him from the shadows.  But no, merely a reflection, as the Hakushaku said, with an oddly pleased tenor to his voice, as if he found some amount of amusement in Muraki's unbalance.

Now, they're in a dimly lit room.  It's sparsely furnished, with two chairs facing the desk where the Keeper is seated.  The most notable things in this room are two massive bound books, one to the left, the other to the right.  One is closed, the other, open, with entries logging themselves automatically onto the blank sheets.

            "Good morning," Muraki says politely.

            "Doctor Muraki," the girl says with a smile, standing up to shake Muraki's hand, reaching over her massive desk.  She's a tiny thing, not nearly the height of Terazuma's shoulder, with straight black-tinged-chestnut hair.  She's got piercingly pale blue eyes.  "Welcome to the registry room.  How do you like your souls done: medium-rare, or medium-well?"  

            "Souls?"  Muraki blinks.

            "Eh, quit messing with the newbie, Keeper," Terazuma says irritably, as he reaches for a cigarette.  "We've got to hurry today."

            "Hurry?  What's the hurry?  Here, make yourselves comfortable," the Keeper says, gesturing grandly toward the plush chairs before her desk.  "Have a seat.  Now, what's your business today?"

            "We need status on a Shidou Saki," Terazuma says, sitting down and handing her a slip of paper with his name.  "Based on all available accounts, he should be dead.  We need to go over both registries."

            "I see," the Keeper nods, studying the kanji.  She sets the paper on her desk, and turns to Muraki.  "What about you?  Why are you here?" 

            "I'm the one who should be making the request," Muraki explains. "On behalf of division five.  Terazuma-san is here as my mentor."  

            "Ah…" Her attention turns to Muraki, laser-intense.  "If that's the case, you'll have to answer two questions.  Because this is your first time here."

            "Questions?"

            "Yep!  What's your favorite food?  And what's your life story?  Please tell me in detail," she says, leaning against her desk as if ready to listen.

            "Mmm, I thought this was going to happen," Terazuma says and whips out a file, slapping it down on her desk.  "Here's the life story.  We need to get moving, so can we get the info now, please?"

            "Oh, you're no fun," she says with a pout.  "I want to hear it in his own words."

            "Ah…may I promise to come and speak with you further at another time?" Muraki offers, before Terazuma can leap out of his chair and strangle her.  "If we don't work efficiently, I think that my partner will be displeased." 

            "Your partner?  Oh yes, division five's Tatsumi."  The Keeper looks chagrined.  "Well, damn.  Let's make an appointment then.  When are you free?"  Suddenly, an appointment book appears in her hand, and she opens it.  "I've got an opening…well, I've got a lot of openings.  What's a good time?"

            "Ah…"

            "Just the information, please," Terazuma grinds out.  His eyes swirl with color, a hint of crimson filling his irises.

            "Sure, sure…" She sets the book down.  "All right.  Death registry.  Shidou Saki."  

            Before her, a translucent and ghostly image appears.

            "We can't actually touch the physical books, because that would disrupt their work," the Keeper explains.  "So this is just a projection.  The only person who can actually touch the books is the Hakushaku himself.  The two books record different things.  That one records the allotment of a person's lifespan, starting with a date of birth, and with a notation added once they die.  The entry is added as soon as they're born.  That's the closed book."  The Keeper points to the book on the left.  "The open one on the other side records untimely deaths caused by third-parties, which is what we'll be checking first.  You kept that one busy for a long time."  The Keeper smiles at Muraki toothily.  "It was disruptive, yes, but we enjoyed it very much."

            "…the information…" Terazuma growls.

            "Right, right," the Keeper watches placidly as the ghostly book's pages flip underneath her opened palm.  "According to the death registry, there is one entry for Shidou Saki, fourth quarter, year ending 1999.  Cause of death, arson."

            "Eh?"

            "Now we'll check the life registry."  The book closes and disappears, and another suddenly appears in its place.  It glows faintly.  The book opens beneath the Keeper's hand, and the pages begin flipping quickly as the Keeper somehow disseminates the information.  

"According to the life registry, there are two entries for Shidou Saki.  One begins in fourth quarter, year ending 1964, the other begins for first quarter, year ending 1993, with a date of death in fourth quarter, year ending 1999.  Hn, an aberration."

            "What?"  Muraki nearly leaps out of his seat, startling Terazuma.  "What do you mean?"

            "That something unusual must have happened," the Keeper states coolly.  "It's not my job to understand the reasoning.  I only maintain the books.  The Hakushaku might know, because he can grant amendments to the book of life, but really, the entry in the registry of death should be final."  The translucent book closes underneath her hand, and disappears.

            "This means that you'll have to go investigate now," the Keeper says.  "There should only be one entry per person, one coupon per customer.  That's how it works.  Unless you know of another way that a person could be duplicated…"

            "Satomi," Muraki says, with sudden realization and an expression of mild horror.  "That…that cannot be."

            "Looks like it is, Doctor," she replies.  "You know, I was sad when you died, because I wanted you to live.  I was even one of the parties that argued against your untimely demise, because I liked watching you.  You kept the second book busy, and that makes me happy.  But Enma gets what Enma wants, and besides, I think you'll be much more fun now that you're here.  Keep amusing me, and I'll try my best to make sure things will go well for you."

            "All right, time to go," Terazuma says, standing up, completely barreling over the last few words of the Keeper as if she had never uttered them.  He grabs Muraki's file and gestures.  "Come on, Muraki.  Tatsumi's waiting.  We have to go now.  Thank you, Keeper, for your kind assistance," he says, the words sounding wooden and insincere.

            "Ah, no problem.  Come back soon!  Especially you, Doctor." The keeper's lips part in an empty grin.  It's chilling, a hollow visage.  "Remember, you promised to answer my questions.  If you don't come, I'll be bored."

            "Yes, when I can, I will return," Muraki promises, as he quickly leaves the Keeper's chamber, following Terazuma.

            Terazuma stays silent until they leave the grounds of the Castle.  Once they return to Meifu proper and are near enough to the general administration to see it, Terazuma breathes a deep sigh of relief and stops to tap out a cigarette.  He lights it, and takes a deep drag.

            "Shit.  I hate that place.  Smells wrong," Terazuma mutters, smoke coiling out from his mouth.  

            "Was she human?" Muraki asks.

            "She's not.  At least, not in the traditional sense," Terazuma says as they make their way toward the entrance.  "Make sure you keep that promise with her.  It's not good to cross anyone over in the Castle.  Even just a servant of the Hakushaku."

            "I will keep that in mind," Muraki replies. 

            "Hey, there's Tatsumi.  I bet he's looking for us," Terazuma says, dropping his cigarette, and crushing it under his shoe.  "Man, he looks mad.  Wonder what's eating him…"  

*******

Saki

            My thanks for all your hard work.  You're really amazingly efficient.  I can see why you're so valuable to him.  The data was worth all the trouble and more.  I'll probably have a working model for you to see in a day or two.  But why don't I fill you in on more of the details while I'm here?  Both of us could use a little break.

            Some years back, Satomi had mentioned to me that he had found some important paperwork.  I don't think that you know this, even as you know far more than anyone else regarding Kazutaka's affairs, but Satomi's father had been a colleague of my paternal grandfather's, a research assistant back in the old days.  Satomi's father had some rather interesting anecdotes from his days working with the old Doctor Muraki, stories about anomalies that Satomi didn't think could be possible.  But then, some years back, Satomi came across something unusual in the papers he inherited from his father, once the old man had died.  It was mostly accounts from my grandfather's hospital, but it referred to a particular person.

            A notation about man who lives, but does not die, even without basic sustenance or sleep.  A reference to samples taken.  A comment about violet eyes.  

I see that you recognize what I'm talking about.  Or, more correctly, you know *who* I'm talking about.

            Satomi and I pored over the files for hours, scrounging for any speck of detail regarding the mysterious man.  There was substantial potential, especially if we could appropriate a sample and look for that specific gene, that segment of DNA that coded for unlimited cellular regeneration.  Immortality.  But we realized we couldn't do anything further unless we had a copy of the specific files and the samples.  

So Satomi and I devised a method of entrapping Kazutaka by artificially aging a partial clone of myself in a modified life-support tank, to see if we could get Kazutaka to reveal the files.  We rigged the whole mess with equipment that would record both audio and video to capture his ramblings, waiting for the information or hints to the information that we'd need.

After all, Kazutaka is a highly skilled physician and surgeon, but cloning and genetics at this level are far beyond his scope of expertise.  

We thought that he'd volunteer the data to Satomi, in order to 'revive' this partial clone copy, gambling on the possibility that for all these years his grudge against me had not ever healed (but really, I don't know why he's so bitter – after all, the past is past).  

However, the gamble didn't quite pay off for some time.  Years in fact.  Kazutaka kept speaking of lunacy - impossible things - supernatural beings that he claimed he could see, stalking amongst the sheep of the fold of humanity.  

His madness.  You're familiar with it.  I can see it in your eyes.  I suppose it troubled you quite a bit, given your proximity to Kazutaka.

Early on, it crossed my mind while I was waiting (and it was a long wait, rest assured – thank goodness that waiting on him wasn't the only thing I had on my plate, or else I'd be as mad as him) that I should sequence his DNA.  After all, his mother, God rest her twisted soul, was so odd, so frighteningly white that if I hadn't known better, I would have said she wasn't human.  Pure curiosity, nothing more.

It wasn't particularly hard - just a matter of waiting for the right moment – one day he left his suit coat in the laboratory for a few hours on a hot day while he went to lunch, and I took a few strands of cast-off hair and ran them.

Now, here's the interesting thing.  I don't think he's exactly human.  Of course, it's impossible to prove now that his body's been cremated.  But I'm quite certain.   To save on a long lecture about the nature of human DNA, I can just say that whatever Kazutaka was, it was not quite what we are.  There's just enough difference, a few percentage points, really, to suggest that he's…well…something else.  And his mother as well.  Statistically speaking, following the changing signposts in the mitochondrial DNA, it's likely that the two of them are the first and second generation of something wholly…different.  Something almost human, but not quite.

You don't think a few percentage points matter, do you?  Well, the difference between chimpanzees and human beings comes out to something less than 5%.  So yes, a few percentage points matter quite a bit.

I never told Satomi about Kazutaka.  I've actually never told anyone about this.  Other than you.  But I know you won't tell anyone.  Not that anyone would believe you.  There's no real physical evidence anymore.  Burned away.  Too bad.  I would have liked a better sample.

In any case, as I delved into the particulars of Kazutaka's genetic sequence, I realized something rather interesting.  Remember my quest for the immortal cell, the gene that keeps cells from degenerating?  Well, it seemed that he had something of that sequence in his DNA, when I looked more closely.  I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised.  Once, when we were younger, he fell and broke his arm – it took a fraction of the time that it should have to heal.  

Yet it wasn't complete, the gene.  His sequence was mixed too much with the normal human attributes that allow us to naturally age and naturally die.  It was missing crucial elements that would make for a perfectly immortal cell.  And whatever crucial element it lacked also made it wholly unreplicatable, which is technically an impossibility, as theoretically, anything can be replicated.  I tried every technique to recreate that particular strand of DNA, as it's really just a matter of stripping and recombining existing DNA until you get what you want.  Yet nothing worked.  It was as if he had a built-in fail-safe, created purely by the accident of birth, from whatever mixture of human and non-human created him.

Once again, a dead end.  Kazutaka was unique, on more levels than the obvious ones.  To put it bluntly, he was uncloneable, which made him useless to me. 

            Now speaking of cloning, it's been a lovely talk as usual, but I had best get back to work.  My lunch break is nearly over.  Please stay warm.  I wouldn't want you to catch cold.  Once this works, I'll come back to you, and you'll be allowed to see my results.    

The agreement?  It still stands.  You can leave when I'm done.  Just be patient.

Sure, it's not fair.  But it's for the sake of science, my cruel and harsh mistress.  But you should understand.  After all, Kazutaka would have said the same thing.

            Have a wonderful day.  Ja.

*******

Hisoka

            Sometimes I wonder if Tsuzuki is really an empath himself, or if he's just that good.  I only say this because he managed to mollify Tatsumi with barely a few words.

            And I quote:

            Tatsumi: No.  Absolutely not.  There are far too many things that are wrong with this scenario, starting with Muraki and ending with Terazuma.  I don't care how bored the two of you are, there is absolutely no way you are helping us with this case, no matter how hard it is to find the man.

            Tsuzuki: But you helped me when I needed you the most.

            Tatsumi: How is that relevant?

            Tsuzuki: Let me help you this time.  Please?

            Seven words.  

***

             Well, this is turning out to be just the most interesting day.  And given the events of the last few weeks or so, I'd say that it's a pretty strong sentiment.  

            Amazingly, because of Tsuzuki's intervention, Tatsumi didn't freak out and threaten anyone with demotions/pay cuts/beatings when Tsuzuki told him that we were going to help out through the compliance of both the Chief and Tatsumi's own partner.  Of course, I think Tatsumi is going to kick Muraki's ass, because the look Tatsumi gave him could have burnt holes through the man's head, much less the anger that was coming off of him like shimmering waves of heat on a hot day.  

            Tatsumi and Muraki went to Kyoto with Terazuma and Wakaba to talk to Oriya.  I guess they're hoping that Oriya can tell them where Saki is.  It's probably a good thing that Terazuma and Wakaba aren't here with us, because I get the feeling that the Tokyo metropolitan police might not take too fondly to a big smoking crater where the city used to be.  Well, that's probably an exaggeration.  Their rivalry has cooled down quite a bit since the Chief threatened to fire them after they destroyed the library, but somehow I can imagine it'd get really tedious with them being snitty at each other at every turn.

But hey, here we are, in Tokyo.  Tsuzuki and I are getting a head start to try to find Saki. 

            Well, it'd be more of a start if he wouldn't stop at every other corner.  At least the tracker shiki have been out for the last few hours.

            "Baka," I mutter.  He's adorable and irritating at the same time, so it's hard to stay mad at him for long, just like it's hard to stay happy with him for long.  Maybe I'll just lump all the good and bad parts of his personality together like eating Brussel sprouts with chocolate cake by separating the two elements, fast-forwarding through the former, and lingering on the latter.

            Oh, except now he's decided he wants to buy me an ice cream cone.  It's 46 degrees out.  And drizzling.  And he wants to buy me a freakin' ice cream cone.

            "What the hell are you thinking?" I grab him by edge of his coat, just as he's about to go waltzing into an ice cream shop.

            "Uh…that 'Soka looks like he could use something to cheer him up?"   

            "Cheer me up?  I'm perfectly fine!  Now let's go find that guy," I snap. "We'll get ice cream later!  You're the one who said we should hurry up and find him before the others get to Tokyo.  It's almost three!  If we can't find his office before it closes, we'll have to find out where he lives and that's going to be a lot harder!"

            "Ice cream, it is!" Tsuzuki says, dragging me with him.

            I think I'm going to start summing things up with annoyed silences.  Starting now.

            … 

***

            Well, we're finally here, and with time to spare.  I guess Tsuzuki was right about having plenty of time.  Saki's office is on the eighth floor of a rather massive building in Chuo-ku, and I'm starting to be really glad that I dressed for the occasion, because it's looking like it might be a hassle to get into. 

            Since we figured that he'd be working in some sort of office, I'm going for the "I'm an intern" look today, with khaki pants and a blue dress shirt with the sleeves half rolled up.  Oh, and an umbrella, since it's drizzly.  Tsuzuki's got what I like to think of as the standard Shinigami uniform – black suit, black tie, black coat, topped off with sunglasses that hide his unusual eyes.  Although I'm starting to think now that maybe he looks like Yakuza-lite or something, because it's pretty dark for sunglasses, what with the heavy gray clouds blocking out the sky. 

            Of course, he's also going for the "I'm way too cool to need an umbrella" motif, which leaves him slightly damp, with trailing bits of water sliding down his sunglasses and beads of water spangling his hair.  What's really amazing is that he's not even in the slightest bit cold or uncomfortable.  He's merely giving off little sprinkles of interest and amusement as we take the elevator up to the eighth floor.

            Me, I'm cold.  Not quite shivering, but not comfortable at all.  It's a direct result of ice cream.  I'd be annoyed with him if I didn't enjoy the ice cream so much – he really was right about that point.

The eighth floor suite is quite sleek and modern, with a lot of antiseptically clean white surfaces and brushed aluminum fixtures.  It's also gratifyingly warm.  Even as I leave my furled umbrella hanging on a stand near the entrance, I can feel myself untensing as the desire to shiver leaves me.

Saki's office is hidden somewhere in this massive eighth floor complex.  It's a good thing we were using trackers.  Before we left, I managed to steal the sensation of Saki's 'presence' out of Muraki's memory before we left (not that it was hard, since it was the only thing he could think about, to the point where it wasn't even a matter of stealing so much as it was dodging flying Saki-feeling) and pass it on to Tsuzuki to use for the trackers.  The trackers brought us to the general vicinity of this area, and we spent about half an hour going building by building until we found this one, which Tsuzuki insisted was the right one.  

Otherwise, we'd have to be doing it the hard way like divisions four and five, because he's not going by the same name – there were only three Shidous listed in Tokyo, and all of them were the wrong person (we checked).  But the trackers are never wrong, so we're sure that he's one of dozens of employees here.  It's a good thing that the company directory lists only one Saki or else we'd be in trouble.  Trust the man to choose one of the five most common surnames in Tokyo.  If we had to do this the old-fashioned way, it'd probably take us forever and a day.  That makes sense though, because if I had a brother like Muraki, I'd change far more than just my name – I'd be first in line at the plastic surgeon's before killing the man, faking my death, and moving to Nigeria.

Tsuzuki's turning up the charm to full blast on the receptionist, rendering her incapable of self-defense and common sense against the merry wit of the genki friend of Dr. Tanaka Saki.  Of course, this friend just happened to be in town from America and decided to drop by Dr. Tanaka's office to surprise him before returning to the states.  Convenient, for a man can barely speak a lick of English.  It's funny how Tsuzuki can make girls so giddy.  Well, me too, sometimes, now that I think about it…

Ahem.  Moving on, we're now being led through the labyrinthine corridors to his office.  It's amazing to see these glass plated labs full of biochemists in full protective gear, their white suits providing them barely a few millimeters between skin and biohazardous materials.  Surprisingly, few of them feel nervous.  The feeling I get here is more of intense focus and enjoyment with the occasional boredom, topped with pleasant surprise.  I suppose it's like any other job.

            "Dr. Tanaka, you've got visitors." The receptionist knocks on his door.  I start subtly insinuating the feeling that she should get back to her desk.  Momentarily, she excuses herself and leaves.

            "Door's open," a voice says.  Tsuzuki flashes me a reassuring smile and opening the door, goes in.  I follow.

            The office is bright and well lit, like everything else in this place, though the window behind him looks out over the damp gray city.  It's got all sorts of little touches of personality, a variegated patterned throw rug on the floor, a prominent landscape of sunny fields on the wall, and framed photographs on the shelves.

            But the man himself.  Wow.  He's nothing like what I expected.  I guess maybe based on Muraki's mind, I thought I should have expected a monster, but this guy…seems pretty nice.  He's radiating satisfaction, at near Tsuzuki-with-apple-pie levels, and a general tone of pleasantry.  He doesn't look much like Muraki at first glance, but then, when you look at him closely, there're hints of resemblances here and there that form a wholly unnerving experience, as if he's a dark not-quite twin.  It's kind of creepy, especially when contrasting my personal experiences with the inside of Muraki's head against that bright feeling that comes off of Saki like a field of sunflowers on a hot day. 

            Tsuzuki was right.  We should be trying to save him.

            "Good afternoon." Saki stands up to greet us, shaking our hands.  "Please have a seat.  I'm in the middle of some data analysis, but it can wait."  He sits expectantly, puzzled as to why we're here, because he doesn't recognize us nor was he expecting us.  It's interesting how he glosses over his lack of familiarity with a cheerful professionalism.  

            "I'm Tsuzuki Asato.  And this is my partner, Kurosaki Hisoka," Tsuzuki starts, pulling off his sunglasses to reveal his violet eyes.  I get a flash of recognition mixed with amazement, inquisitiveness, and something else that I can't put my finger on.  It's a really weird reaction, even to someone with eyes like Tsuzuki.  By the time I tune back in, I've missed the first part of the conversation.  

            "…And what brings you two gentleman to my office?"

            "We're here because of your brother," Tsuzuki pronounces. 

            "Brother?  You must be mistaken," Saki says coolly, without even the slightest change in expression.  "I'm an only child."  He's really good at being sincerely insincere.  He feels like he believes it strongly, against the truth of the matter.

            Tsuzuki pulls Saki's file out of his coat, flips it open, and drops it on the desk between them.  "To be exact, a half-brother.  One Muraki Kazutaka.  Recently deceased."

            Saki browses through the file momentarily, before closing it and sliding it back to Tsuzuki with a breath of resignation.  "Looks like this means I don't have to tell you my usual story of being adopted by some nice people in the states.  Ah well.  It's a good story too.  So what do you want?  Is this some governmental bureaucratic silliness that I have to go through because of his death?  Or are you here to tell me that somehow, for some godforsaken reason, my brother managed to find out I wasn't dead and decided to send killers after me post-mortem?"

            It's amazing how close to the truth he is.  Because technically speaking, we're like governmental bureaucrat killers.  Sort of.  But what's also amazing is his seeming unconcern, which goes down into an emotional level too, as if he doesn't have anything to fear from Muraki.

"That's not exactly it," I say.  "We're here to warn you."

"Warn me?"  Suspicion.  However, it doesn't show on his face.

"Your brother isn't as dead as you think he is.  We're here to warn you that he's looking for you," Tsuzuki says simply.  "If he finds you, he'll probably try to kill you."

"Again," I add.  Tsuzuki then goes into a long discussion of the basics of the situation, about our Shinigami status, about Muraki's new existence, and about the inconsistent entries in the registries of life and death.

"That's pretty far-fetched," Saki says thoughtfully, as he folds his hands before him, digesting the information.  It's a lot for a normal person to take in at one time.  I don't expect him to take it too well, but he's simmering on it as if trying to boil down the meaning to its essence.  "What do you expect me to do about this?  Leave town?  I still have to go to work to pay the bills."

"Actually, we have a better solution for you," Tsuzuki says, pulling out an ofuda, holding it up in his hand.  "It'll prevent anyone with trackers from finding you.  Even me.  Just hang onto it, and try to keep a low profile.  It won't make you invisible, but it'll hide you from anyone who's looking for you with magic."

"What will this cost me?"  Saki says, raising an eyebrow.  He thinks we're conmen.  

"Nothing," Tsuzuki replies.  "You don't have to believe us.  Just take it on faith and hang onto it.  At least for the next week or so.  Everyone's looking for you right now, and the faster they find you, the more likely Muraki will try to kill you."

            Now I get the feeling that he thinks we might be evangelists.  Or lunatics.  Or lunatic evangelists. 

            "We're not evangelists," I say irritably.  He blinks, and wonders how I picked up on that thought.  "And I picked up on that because I can feel them."  I tap my head.  Well, to be honest, it was a good guess - I just got the usual sense of irritation and distrust that I generally associate with how people feel about evangelists.

            Then it's the usual mental scramble that happens when a person finds out what I am and that I can sense their feelings.  He's trying to hide whatever's floating around in his head.  It's a weird image; I just picked up the feeling of a cold laboratory and a lot of patience, but mixed with something else…something not so good.  But I don't pry too much.  Everyone's got something to hide, something that they're ashamed of or worse.  God knows I'm one of them.

            "It looks like I'll have to be holding onto this for a while," Saki says, looking at the ofuda thoughtfully, turning it over in his hands to study the complex writing.  "Is this replicable?"

            "You'd have to know the right spell," Tsuzuki says, "And have a certain amount of innate ability to fuel the spell.  You can't just photocopy it."  

            Saki nods, folds the ofuda in half, and pockets it.  "Very interesting."  And I think we're done.

            "Thank you for your time, Tanaka-san," Tsuzuki says, getting up to shake his hand.  "Hopefully we won't have to come see you again, but until next time."

            "Next time it is, then," Saki says pleasantly, shaking our hands.  As we leave, he gives me the strangest look, just as that thought about a cold laboratory, something secret, and…uh…a guest of some sort comes to mind again.

            People have the weirdest things in their heads.  You never know if it's recent or in the past, because for some people, what's fresh on their minds could have happened years ago.

            I chalk it up to perverted late nights at the laboratory.  Sluttiness must run in that family.

*******

Oriya

            Yesterday afternoon, Oriya woke up suddenly from an unexpected nap.  He had somehow dozed off.  In his office, a few things had been moved about, but he found the note from Saki, half crumpled near an empty glass.

            Oriya had gone to bed soon after that, feeling listless and drained.  While his mind normally would have inquired further, it was sluggish from the insistence of rest, as if he had not been sleeping well at all in the last few days.

            Certainly, that had been the case.

            Oriya sighs.  Upon waking, morning practice brought to the fore the problem of a mind that was wholly unfocused.  He had pushed harder than usual, chasing after an elusive clarity that seemed just out of reach, hidden past that dark brother's brown eyes.  

            It's been a long morning.  He's spent most of it resolving the issues of Kokakurou, readying it for a new week.  While it's not the most time-consuming of affairs, it requires a particularly delicate touch to hold all factions in harmony with one another, carefully preventing discord and preserving the institution's central theme of elegant harmony.

            Sometime, a little after noon, he's had lunch – just a simple spare meal, the morning's sense of unbalance suggesting to him that he needs to keep on guard against hints of weakness.  

And that's when they appear.

            Like the warp of a wave of heat along the horizon's edge, they come, the Shinigami.  He's never seen them appear like this before – perhaps it was intentional, to let him know that Muraki had been changed.  Perhaps not – it was a mystery that only they knew for certain.  But the fact remains that they're here, four of them this time; a sour looking young man with feral markings along his cheeks, a girl with honey-blond hair trailing down her shoulders interspersed with ribbons, the blue-eyed secretary that occasionally haunts Oriya's dreams, and him.

            Muraki.  

            It can't be true.  It's unfair.  And it's too much.  

            Warring desires play out in Oriya's heart for a moment, and the emotive response on the surface is like the drop of a stone into water, sudden disturbance, disappearing into ripples of calm, the dark water of his eyes obscuring his true emotions from view.

            Only Muraki approaches.  The others hang back, as if to observe.  Oriya isn't sure whether to laugh at this, or consider throwing them all out of his garden for trespassing.

            "Oriya."  It's simple.  Just that word, and Oriya wants to throw himself into the arms of his friend, but he doesn't.  The offer is there, as it always stands, but he doesn't move.

            "Muraki."  A low tone.  It says nothing, yet volumes at the same time.

            Muraki makes his way along the stone path of the garden.  The pond is a liquid movement of water and fallen leaves, the bamboo font tapping rhythmically in a motion that does not cease.  The sky is an autumnal blue, clear forever into its open heart, marbled with skitters of faint clouds, midday unfolding its light.

            Oriya nearly trembles with this image, so true, a reality that conflicts with the remembered sensation of snow hovering along the edges of his perception.  His breath catches in his throat as Muraki comes near; for a moment, it feels as though he cannot breathe.

            Muraki enters Oriya's office, careful to take off his shoes and set them by the doorway.  With a backwards glance, he seems to receive some sort of permission, and Muraki closes the sliding paper door behind him.  Yet still, the watchful eyes of the Shinigami do not seem to have dissipated even as they are veiled from sight.

            For a moment, silence, as Muraki sits down on his heels next to Oriya, in their usual places on the tatami floor.  The silence is pulled along, strung loosely as if weaving itself back into its native shape.  Yet like a thread that's been unraveled and rewoven, the original form is lost forever.

            He's different now.  Oriya can see that; the face looks minutely more youthful, the right eye no longer scarred and unbalanced, the frightful asymmetry now replaced by a perfectly normal yet pale blue eye.  

            In some ways, they're both different.

            "Oriya," Muraki says again, initiating the contact.  It's like the entrance of the guest into the room in which one gives the tea ceremony, and Oriya can do nothing but politely respond, because he does not know what to do otherwise.

            "You're back."  It's nearly an accusation, mixed with breathless hope.

            Muraki nods.  "I'm sorry.  I would have returned sooner if I could."

            "How…?"

            Muraki explains quietly, the things that had happened, the new life that he lived.  The world where the sakura are always in bloom, like the springtime of youth reborn in the darkness of the land beyond.

            Oriya can only listen.  He knows Muraki is only here conditionally – there must be a reason, unfinished business perhaps, something that he's here for.

            And it's not because of their friendship.  Oriya gathers that much, hearing the tremble and flicker of emotion along Muraki's words, so very much like the days leading up to the end almost a year ago now, where Muraki clasped the cold plastic card into Oriya's hand, forcing him to take the key that opened new doors while closing their shared past as Muraki disappeared into the ghost-ridden Kyoto night.

            Oriya closes his eyes, smoothing out the harsh edges of emotion when he realizes that there can be only one thing that Muraki is after.  When he realizes who could have come in to crumple the note, move the glass and momentarily disturb his slumber the other afternoon without any mortal noticing.

            "No."  The word slides past Oriya's lips, thought turned reality with one breath.

            Muraki blinks, momentarily unsettled.   He had not mentioned anything in particular relating to Saki, yet Oriya had seen through the maneuverings of conversation that would have led him to the question.

            "I cannot allow you to kill him, Muraki."  It's just that simple.

            "He drugged you.  And quite possibly stole the data.  Where are the earrings?"  

            Oriya's expression does not change.  Reaching over, he pulls open a little drawer in his desk.  In it are a few miscellaneous items, including a small jewelry box, which he pulls out and opens.  The earrings are still there, crimson gemstones blinking in surprise at the sudden light.  He hands the box to Muraki, who carefully pries the backing off of one of the stones.  A tiny chip falls out.  But it's not his.

            "This is…"  Muraki blinks. 

            Oriya shrugs.  "I haven't touched it."

            "Saki."  The word is laced with venom.  "Where is he?"  Demanding.

            "I can't tell you." 

            "Cannot, or will not?"

            "Both.  Let the man live.  Nothing ties you to him anymore, Muraki.  Your life is over.  But instead of going to the true death, you've been given a second chance.  Do not waste it."

            "Oriya."  Muraki cannot believe what he's hearing.

            "You lived for only vengeance, and where did it take you?  An inferno of black flames utterly destroying everything in its path.  And here you are, with a new future, and you spit in its face as if the chance that few others will ever receive in their lives is worth nothing to you.  Go and live, even if it's the world of the dead, because if you do not do this now, you will never be given another chance."  The tone is final, the falling stroke of an executioner's blade.  The expressions on Oriya's face close, as if the snapping shut of a case.  The interview is over.

            Muraki knows better than to press the issue.  The best thing, in his mind, is to leave now, and come back another time.  Perhaps Oriya will be more pliant to suggestion then; Muraki will figure something out in the meantime.  There are five other Shinigami to draw resources from, and when he has a chance to get a hold of his secretary, it's likely that they won't even need Oriya's help.  His mind calculates along a dozen variables, and Oriya nearly winces, seeing the conclusion in Muraki's eyes.

             Muraki bows gracefully, the leave-taking of a stranger.  The two turns of the ceramic bowl for tea have been disrupted, the water's splashed onto the rim, a droplet flicked off the surface, enough to break that delicate balance of tension and elegance that the tea ceremony's held for the two for so many years.  

            "Thank you," he says simply, as he stands to leave.  "Perhaps we should have dinner some time."  No need to burn all bridges, resources that have future potential should never be wasted.

            "Perhaps."  The word comes out strained and tight.  Oriya didn't mean for this, he would do anything to pull Muraki back, make him stay, make him…but it's too late.

            It was too late a lifetime ago, under the brilliant red moon.

            Muraki shuts the door behind him as he leaves.

*******

Saki

            Don't be like that, Sakaki-san.  We both know you're awake.  It's far too early for you to be asleep.  Pretending won't work.  I can tell, even with only the tips of your black hair showing past the covers.  

I said we could be friends, why would I lie to you?  There's nothing to gain from hurting you – as I told you before, the more you cooperate, the better things will become.

            The two of us should close the circle of fate behind us.  Your father tried to kill me with a shot to the back.  Of course, you knew that – you grew up with the mythology of the man who saved your precious Sensei when he was naught but an embryo of the man he is now.  

Your father was a relentless man, loyal and brave.  I still have the scar.  It goes all the way through me.

And you, you've been a world of help to me.  You tense up at that word – why does it shame you to help me?  

            After all, don't think of it as betrayal.  Think of it as helping out your Sensei's dear brother continue the work that he would have wanted to continue, if he was still alive.  Think of it as compensation for the sins of the father.

            There, get up.  Yes, that's good.  I have some news for you.  You know my little project?  Well, it's gotten interesting.  I compared the two runs of DNA analysis, my brother's and this mysterious Tsuzuki Asato.  It turns out neither of them have what I'm looking for.

            But this is where it gets very odd.  Because they each hold about half of the clues.  I had to make an intelligent guess since there's still a gap in between them that's been lost – I'm certain most of it comes from Kazutaka's side, as he only holds half of his mother's genes, and not more. 

            But intelligent guesses on the sequencing pattern have led me to this point, which leads me to you.

            I'm done.  See this vial?  It's my grand experiment.  Very plain looking, isn't it?

            Don't worry.  It will only hurt a bit.  Then again, if this works properly, it won't hurt at all.  

            Now hold still.

*******

To be continued…

Thanks to: DWE for her help in explaining DNA, genetics, etc.  Cyrus and RubyD for prereading.  And Aeanagwen for proofreading.  Welcome to the team.  ^_-  Also, thanks to everyone in the livejournal Yami community and all the nice people who give me feedbacks and such, including you the reader, for your continued support!  Thank you, thank you, thank you!  *___*  If I have a chance, I will certainly try to email everyone back – if not, you're free to contact me on AIM or whatnot (evilasiangenius).

Author's notes:

The earrings had dried blood on them because Oriya had been clutching them in his hand until they bled (end of chapter 4).  Saki has a background in biochemistry/genetics.  And Sakaki is referenced in King of Swords, where he is the contact that Muraki calls to arrange the 'helicopter and guns.'  He's got a journal on livejournal.com, under the username sakaki_san.

I'm going out of town for 10 days, and will be back – don't know if you'll see another chapter anytime soon, but I will try.  Sorry this one took so long!  And no, I have no idea what he's doing to Sakaki yet either, so we'll all discover it together.  :D

Omake!

Presenting…

The Path to the King of Practical Jokers II: Chef Watari

            "Muraki-san!" A voice cheerfully sails through the empty office.

            "Eh?"  Muraki looks up from his paperwork.  It's noon in Meifu, and everyone's out to lunch, even Tatsumi, who has been needled into taking a break.  Muraki volunteered to stay behind to work on the papers.  He needs a few moments of quiet.

            "Ah, here you are," Watari says, walking in with a square pink box.  Muraki thinks it looks suspiciously like a pastry box, but says nothing.  "I brought something for you." 

            "Hmm?" 

            Watari presents the box to Muraki.  "Congratulations on your first case in Chijou!  Tatsumi told me all about it!"

            "Oh, no…I couldn't accept this," Muraki says graciously, trying to cover for the fact that he just wants to be left alone and has no interest in dessert at the moment.

"That thing with the fire…that's very cool!  I wouldn't think that a spell could hold a burning soul like that, but wow, it saves on garden hoses.  Did you know I actually invented a device to put them out?" Watari chatters on, cheerfully bent on prattling Muraki into submission.  "But Tatsumi said I couldn't use it because it was fourteen stories tall and ate small children…but it didn't eat them on purpose!  It just sort of grew a mind of its own.  Then again, it didn't really 'eat' them so much as process them through a knitting factory that made them custom-fit sweaters.  Really fashionable ones too…" 

"Well then, thank you very much for your present," Muraki says finally, taking the pink box if for nothing but to hopefully make Watari leave.

"It's a cherry pie!  I hope you enjoy it.  I baked it myself," Watari replies, as he checks his watch.  "Oops, I better get going.  My solution's not titrating itself.  Ja!"  Watari wanders off, and disappears from the general office.

Muraki sneaks a glance at the pie in the pastry box.  It's passionately normal looking.  He frowns, because he doesn't have a particular fondness for cherry pies, and closing the lid, shoves it to one side of his desk.

Minutes pass as he works quietly, but the box keeps getting in the way, to the point that Muraki feels as though it is being driven by some infernal mechanism bent on making absolutely sure that he paid attention to the box in some way, shape, or form.

So Muraki decides to do what any normal person would do.  He picks up the box, and deciding it was a waste of a perfectly normal pie, takes it to the break room with plans on leaving it there with a note that says, 'please eat.'  

On the way to the break room, he runs into his fellow Shinigami, just returning from lunch.  

            Or, to be precise, he runs into a specific pair of fellow Shinigami.

            "Tsuzuki-san!"  

            "Muraki!"  

            For a moment, there's a definite awkward tension.  The two don't seem to be certain whether they should run from each other or try something.  Mutual confusion sets in, and eventually an uneasy truce seems to settle in, in which both keep their distance.

            Tsuzuki sniffs the air apprehensively.  His ability to sense pie is perhaps even greater than his ability to fight supernatural crime.

            "Is that pie?"  Tsuzuki asks cautiously.

            "Cherry."  Muraki offers helpfully.

            "Oh, can I have a slice?"  Tsuzuki says, before his young partner can smack him upside the head with a definitive 'no.'

            "Of course.  I was just bringing it to the break room to share, Tsuzuki-san," Muraki says.  "Care to join me?"

            "Pie!"

***

            "Won~der~ful!"  Tsuzuki's in heaven.  The nice big slice of pie is everything and more he hoped it would be, fresh cherries cooked down into a sweet syrupy consistency, latticed with a sugar-sprinkled crust.  Muraki looks on in amusement as Tsuzuki spoons pie decadently into his mouth.

            Hisoka rolls his eyes, sitting next to Tsuzuki at the break room table.  He was sure this was going to happen – there's not much one can do when it came to Tsuzuki and desserts.  He looks at Muraki suspiciously across the table.  Muraki appears to be trying nothing, but the provenance of the pie was always suspect.

            "Hey.  Where'd you get this pie?" Hisoka asks.

            But before Muraki can say a thing, Tsuzuki slips a spoonful into Hisoka's mouth.  Hisoka blinks in surprise, and nearly chokes.  But then he remembers to chew, and oh yes.  It's quite a delicious pie.  

            "Ne, Hisoka.  Isn't it good?" Tsuzuki says, with a bit of a glint in his eye.  "Want another bite?"  Tsuzuki's intentions can be sensed a mile away even as Muraki is stunned speechless.

            "Of course," Hisoka says, playing along even if he doesn't *really* want pie.  Obediently, he shuts his eyes and opens his mouth as Tsuzuki feeds him another bite of pie.

            It's quite disgustingly cute.  Muraki's eye twitches.

            "Another bite, Hisoka?"  Tsuzuki says sweetly.  

            "Please," Hisoka breathes, his voice tinged with lingering pleading.  "I want more.  Please…"  

            Tsuzuki obliges gracefully, this time purposefully letting a bit of cherry filling catch along Hisoka's lips.

            "Oh, you've got something on your face," Tsuzuki says with exaggerated concern.  "Here, let me get it."  He leans forward, making as if to kiss Hisoka, and pulls back at the last second to wipe at the stray bit of cherry-infused syrup with his finger, sucking the red sweetness off his finger lasciviously.

            Muraki is somewhere between livid and scandalized.  Hisoka tries his best to keep from laughing out loud.

            "Hey.  Who brought the pie?"  Terazuma does a sudden stop before the open break room door.  Behind him, Wakaba stops, hearing the word 'pie.'

            "No fair!  Tsuzuki-chan, you have to share!" Wakaba says, as she and Terazuma join the others, sitting down across the table from Hisoka and Tsuzuki.  

            "It was a surprise pie!  Muraki showed up with it, and we thought we'd have a slice...I wasn't trying to hide it, honest!" Tsuzuki says as Muraki dishes up a few slices for Terazuma and Wakaba.  

            "I forgive you this time," Wakaba says with a wink.  "Itadakimasu!"  She and Terazuma begin to eat the pie.

            A few minutes of silence pass in which pie is consumed.

            "Ne, Tsuzuki?" Hisoka looks a bit flushed.

            "Yes."  Tsuzuki looks similar.

            "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

            "Let's go.  Ah, excuse us!  We're…uh…going to the library to study.  Seeyoualllater!" Tsuzuki says, grabbing Hisoka and making a hasty exit.

            "Eh?  What's that about?"  Terazuma wonders.  "This isn't some sort of high school."

            "Hajime, just eat your pie," Wakaba says.  "Mmm, I love this!  So good…I'm no good at baking pies.  I can never get the crust right."

            "The secret, Wakaba-chan, is in the handling of the dough," Tatsumi says, leaning on the doorway.  "Really, you would think that I would get invited to these things once in a while."

            "My apologies, Tatsumi-san," Muraki says, cutting Tatsumi a slice and plating it as Tatsumi sits across from him.  "It was an impromptu pie break."

            Tatsumi accepts the pie.  "For future reference, please keep me filled in on matters of departmental importance," Tatsumi says, as he takes a bite of the pie.

            Muraki doesn't know if he's joking or not, so he just nods in acceptance.

            Terazuma pushes the empty plate back, and leans against his chair, stretching.  "Ah…that was a good slice of pie."  

            "Mm-hmm!" Wakaba's still eating.

            Terazuma's arms stretch out, and one of them comes to rest against Muraki's shoulders companionably.  "You really are a good little Shinigami, you know that?  Sharing your pie with us."  Terazuma's like a lazy affectionate cat, kneading his outstretched hand along one of Muraki's shoulders.

            Muraki is very surprised.

            "You know, sometimes, in the right light, you're as pretty as a girl…" Terazuma whispers into Muraki's ear.  Muraki nearly bolts from the sudden change in character.  "Since I can't touch girls…why don't we…"  The rest is a muffled insinuation.

            Muraki's jaw goes slack.

            Tatsumi pushes his cleaned plate forward, wiping at his lips carefully with a handkerchief.  Of course, he doesn't need it – he's a meticulous eater.  For a moment, a strange expression comes across his face, and it seems as if he's fighting some internal war.  But it passes in a flash, so sudden that one would think it to be non-existent.  But really, it's been shoved into a simmer, forced down to keep from boiling over.  Tatsumi reaches up to unbutton the top collar of his shirt, feeling as though he's a bit overheated.

            "Muraki-san.  I notice you haven't had any pie," Tatsumi says, suspiciously, as he worries at his tie.

            "I don't particularly care for cherry," Muraki says uncomfortably, as he tries to untangle himself from Terazuma, who's managed to drape himself over the taller man like a cat sleeping on a computer monitor.  Except with more rubbing.

            "Then why do you have this pie?" Wakaba blinks, wondering what in the world's come over her partner.  She, as it appears, remains unaffected by the pie's workings.

            "Good question, Wakaba-chan," Tatsumi says, as he looks at her, as if noticing her for the very first time.  "You have such very lovely eyes, Wakaba-chan."  Tatsumi reaches over the table, and clasps at Wakaba's fingers with his, drowning her in his equally lovely blue eyes.

            Wakaba blushes, a pretty pink.  "Thank you, Tatsumi-san." 

            "Get your hands off of my partner," Terazuma says without much heat, as if more by routine than real vehemence, as Muraki tries to push him off without damaging his dignity.

            "I would say the same about you, Terazuma-san," Tatsumi says, without looking away from Wakaba, who blushes even more as his fingers stroke her hands.  "Now if you could please let him go…"

            "You first," Terazuma says, nuzzling at Muraki's neck.

            "W-wait, Terazuma-san, this is…highly unusual!" Muraki squawks as Terazuma knocks them both to the floor, the chairs tumbling down around them in a disregarded clatter.  Wakaba would normally be all over this with a camera, but she's entranced by Tatsumi who's gotten up to lean over the table as if to kiss her.

            "Th…the pie!"  Muraki flails as Terazuma pins his wrists.  "There must have been something in it!  It's…gah!  Terazuma-san, stop that!  It…it was a gift from Watari!"

            "Watari?"  Three pairs of eyes blink as everything goes into pause for a moment.  

Thirty seconds later, the Summons Division of Enmacho is much busier than it was ten minutes ago, and not in the paperwork sense.

"Professor Watari's Instant-slut formula!  Now with 30% more aphrodisiacs!  Number one in the nation for curing coworker hang-ups!  But wait!  There's more!  Buy now and get the new and improved Inhibition-Loss Blackmail formula!  Only 1700 yen + shipping and handling!"


	8. The True Death, Part 4

The True Death, Part 4 

Summary: Events draw to a head as Saki's experiment follows an unforeseen path, and a midnight visit to Kokakurou weaves together a tangled web.

Spoilers through Kyoto Arc

A particular legend in turn-of-the-century Japan goes something like this: 

A celestial being and a demonic one made an agreement.  No one knows what the exact details of the agreement were.  Some say it was really a bet, others say it was an experiment.  The main stipulation that affects humans is as follows:

Each of them will have a child borne by a human woman.  The children will be allowed to follow their own paths, with their environments and choices dictating what they will become.  There will be no interference.

There are no time limitations or deadlines.  There is just the agreement.

Not too long afterwards, there are two children born, in different parts of Japan.  One is born in a village, a little boy who, by all appearances, is completely normal but for his violet eyes.  The child is given away, after exposure does no good.

In a different village, a little girl is born.  The child has pure white hair and almost completely colorless eyes.  In fact, without pigmentation, she is pale to translucency.  At a young age, she is sold to a traveling merchant as an oddity.  No one knows what happened to her.

Parallel beginnings in the same world.  Neither continues to age once they reach maturity.  One dies by his own hand, a suicide; the other is kept as a curiosity, passed from hand to hand.  Madness sets in for both, though for one it's mercifully short. 

The boy and girl are dead.  Yet the agreement is ongoing, even without the original players.  As long as their lives interfere with human ones, whether through their own or their descendants, it will always continue.  

They say that the demonic being wanted a boy, because of its pride.  They also say that the celestial being wanted a girl, because of its humility.  Yet both were designed with a fatal flaw that only increases with exposure to human blood.  At a particular balance, the more human blood, the stronger the flaws become.  However, too much human blood, and it thins out and weakens the original.  

Those of demonic descent are inexorably drawn to goodness, feeling the weight of their bloodlines.  Celestial descendants, on the other hand, are inexorably drawn to darkness...

*******

Sakaki 

Almost two weeks ago today, Sakaki Seiichirou, then-current secretary and assistant to a particular Dr. Muraki Kazutaka, decided to go to bed early.  He vaguely remembers waking up in the middle of the night because of a noise, but the next thing he definitively remembers is waking up to find himself lying on a thin futon, handcuffed to a pipe outlet in a far-too-cold laboratory.

Much has changed since then.  Muraki's brother Shidou-san has taught him a lot.

Sakaki looks at his hand and wiggles the fingers on his right hand as if he can't move it.  For the last several hours, he's been bound to this hospital bed, his wrists pinioned by fabric straps that they use for patients who, in their delirium, cannot help but thrash about, unintentionally hurting themselves.

He woke up groggily from a drug-induced stupor - something in the food, no doubt - as Saki was binding him early this morning.   But the reasoning begins to seem clearer and clearer as now, the brother chats amicably, prepping Sakaki's bared inner elbow with a tincture of surgically sterile iodine, carefully palpating the sensitive flesh there for the vein underneath.

Of course, Sakaki's no fool.  After Saki had left, he had burrowed under the sheets and spent the day hiding under the covers as if in grief.  But in actuality, he had been working meticulously at picking at the fabric with his teeth loosening the ties until really they were mere formality, nothing that could really restrain him with any conviction. 

Ever since Saki returned from work and asked him to sit up, Sakaki's been waiting for an opening.  He's very patient.

Here's where it comes.  

Saki has one hand bracing Sakaki's arm, the other positioning the syringe for the correct point of insertion.  As the needle descends, Sakaki moves.  It's the moment that Sakaki's been waiting for, the instant when Saki takes his eyes off of him.

Without warning, Sakaki's left hand strikes out, in one quick motion pulling the plunger of the syringe back while his right hand goes to twist the needle out of Saki's hand.  In an instant that seems to last forever, Saki looks up, surprised, as an arc of colorless liquid flies into the air in a thin stream, spilling from the open syringe.  His eyes grow wide as the liquid splashes at him, and a second later, it's over, as Sakaki manages to twist in the bed and, knock Saki over to the ground with a swing of his legs.  

Sakaki's heart pounds, the rush of adrenaline seeming to cancel out any lingering side effects from the morning's dose of drugs.  He quickly hops off the bed from the other side, skidding along the slick tile floor in his sock-clad feet, scrambling for the stray broom that he saw across the room earlier in the morning.  He spins around after grabbing it, shakily ready to defend himself, but it seems that Saki is not getting up.  

Sakaki finds this to be very odd, as the blow was nothing serious – not nearly enough to knock a grown man out – so, carefully he inches forward and prods at Saki with the long broomstick from a distance, trying to gauge if he had managed a lucky hit and knocked Saki out.

No reaction.  Sakaki frowns, and carefully shoves at Saki with the long wooden handle of the broomstick, trying to turn him so he can see Saki's face.  Sakaki wonders what is wrong with Saki, as he can still hear Saki's ragged breaths.  Saki's head lolls over, and Sakaki nearly drops the broomstick.

Eyes.  

They're like nothing Sakaki's ever seen before.  As Muraki's assistant, he's seen all sorts of patients with ailments, whether through accident, disfiguration, or disease, pass through Muraki's practice.  Even Muraki with his asymmetrical prosthetic had never once looked anything like this.  

This…it's inhuman.

Saki's eyes, in the cool florescent light, have taken on a hue that makes it seem as if the pupil's burst, ebony flooding into the iris, engulfing the cornea.  And even as Sakaki watches, something is changing.  Something bad.  

Sakaki's forgotten to breathe as Saki's eyes grow almost kaleidoscopic, colors drifting in and out of the blackened orb like the gleam of mother-of-pearl; silvery, violet, blue…Saki's head half-turns away from Sakaki, falling limp against the floor, and as the light catches against the curve of Saki's eyeball, it seems to reflect, like the eyes of a feral beast in the dark.

With a clatter, the broom hits the floor, and Sakaki makes a run for it, not bothering to try to find his shoes or wallet or keys, trying only to get away, to get back from those eyes that seem to bore into him, sightless and horrible, all human pretense stripped away into something that he cannot with any decency understand in the slightest.

Sakaki's running, past the chill laboratory halls that have been his prison for the last few weeks.  Inside his head, Sakaki is planning as he stumbles out into the night, the first hint of fresh air in weeks hitting his face.  He trembles in the cool autumn night as he realizes he's free.  It's raining, and his feet are getting soaked through his thin black dress socks.  In the distance, the rumble of traffic, and Sakaki knows from the sound that he's not far from one of the major highways that intersect Tokyo.

Something must have happened to Muraki, so he can't go look for him.  Sakaki's reasoned this out, because he knows that Muraki would have come for him, and not left him to rot in Saki's hands.  Sakaki can't go home, either.  Saki's had his keys – all of them – for weeks.  Sakaki runs various scenarios through his head until he realizes what he has to do.

First, he needs to find a bank machine.  He needs to access certain accounts, to see if he can still pull money from them, because he knows that certain procedures will have automatically started if Muraki is truly dead.

Then, he's going to Kyoto.  That's what he's supposed to do.

Sakaki stares at his feet.  He'll need shoes.  Sakaki steels himself with a deep breath, and starts walking blithely along as if there is nothing in the world wrong with a man who is out on a cold, rainy autumn night without a coat or umbrella, wearing just a long-sleeved white shirt, gray trousers, and socks.  He combs his fingers through his short-cropped hair, feeling the icy water slick through it, and heads for the sound of traffic, trying to figure out exactly where in Tokyo he is.

As he walks, Sakaki shivers a little.  But it's not because it's cold.  It's because he's remembering those eyes.

*******

Muraki 

The proof.  Ah, what an amusing concept.  Between the researching efforts of two fowl and one featherbrain, there's more than enough, apparently.  

It amuses me to know that they're afraid of me, which is why, once the data from Saki's chip that had been hidden in my earrings had been extracted, it was left for my personal perusal while they beat a hasty tea break retreat.  And certainly, it was a good idea, because right now, there are a few things I'd like to accomplish, most of them beginning with my brother and ending along the fine-honed edge of a sharp knife.

Satomi.  Had I known about your involvement in the death of my parents, your suffering would have been so very much prolonged.  The memory of your face distorted in terror and pain at my hands is my only consolation.  That I had killed you myself gives me some fulfillment, yet couldn't you have told me?  All these years, you hid this from me, your prize pupil; the little boy in white that grew up to follow in your footsteps more than I ever did with my own father…

Saki's copy of your diary shows that you were the one who supplied Saki with the drugs that killed my parents.  All these years, I had naively believed it was something simple like the bitter almond of cyanide, but it turns out that it was in fact powerful, yet subtle neurotoxins – your own blend perhaps?  No wonder that the coroner never caught it.

You wanted my father dead, because you were more than half in love with my mother.  You thought Saki would kill only him, because father dragged the poor bastard from his happy little orphanage (and in truth, he is a bastard in every possible definition of the word) into the twisted little world that was our Muraki family.

You never knew what went on in that household, did you?  I bet you didn't know how much Saki hated my mother and how in he, his own skewed perception, wanted to protect me from what he thought was her madness.  Oh, how ironic the twists and turns of fate that the vessel for your plot brought about your beloved's demise as well.  Or, as my brother's records, gleaned from your own when he inherited your estate, seem to indicate, her incomplete demise.

If only you were alive so that I could ask you this question – how did you look, how did it feel, what did you think, when her dismembered body (and exactly how did you manage to steal it from the morticians?) began to move of its own volition, begin to try to cry to you for help?

Did her torn vocal cords try to reattach themselves as you severed her head for your project?  Did she cry and beg you for help when you panicked and dumped the squirming, thrashing limbs and shining white hair into the school's underground furnace?  How did you feel when you were destroying the evidence as you smashed the bones to pieces with a heavy metal rod to force them to keep from trying to piece themselves together as you watched the flesh burn?

Oh, and I can just imagine your guilt afterwards, not merely because of the fact that you sentenced my mother to two deaths, one inadvertent, one intentional, but because "you didn't think to take a sample and thus lost the opportunity to study further this mysterious regenerative capability."

I can just imagine.

I can just…

*******

Hisoka 

Tadaima.  

Kind of.  We're now back in Meifu at the general office.  It's late, far past nine, but there's still going to be a meeting.  Divisions two, four, and five, all in one room at the same time.  Bleh.  I just want to go to bed.  Hopefully everyone else will be too tired to talk for long, because if this meeting lasts more than an hour, I am definitely going to hug Terazuma and let him and Tsuzuki burn down the building just so I don't have to come in tomorrow.

I'm tired.  It's been a long, long day.  After our secret meeting with Saki, we received a messenger ofuda from Wakaba, asking us to do a quick investigation to look for a guy named Sakaki Seiichirou at a particular set of locations, including Muraki's old workplace.  Apparently they had been trying to contact him and had received no answer.

Well, I think now I know just about everything I can stomach about that poor Muraki-sensei who died so unexpectedly, and gosh, what kind of a monster could have murdered him?  He was like a saint or an angel, maybe a little cold sometimes, but always so kind to us and remember last New Year's when he paid for the entire staff to go to Kyoto for the weekend to see a concert by that famous rock star?  We'll all really miss him.

Ugh.

The enthusiasm of his staff almost made me feel guilty about killing him, until I remembered that those mousy ladies probably knew nothing about Muraki's real self.  Dr. Muraki the surgeon was probably a really nice guy.  Muraki, the man that I know, is something more and something less, both at the same time.  They probably never would have guessed that he could have been involved in serial killing sprees of pretty long-haired women and little boys raped under the red moonlight.  

Bad thoughts.  I need to stop thinking about that.  Okay, deep breaths, Kurosaki.  Deep breaths.

Right, Tokyo.  No one knew where "that nice young Sakaki-san" is.  The last anyone had heard, he was going on vacation, but that was just what his answering machine said.  According to the interviews, it was really odd for him to leave all this work half-done before he left town.  Of course, nasty rumors had it that it was possible that young Sakaki-san had committed the murder, but how could that be?  Apparently the young man had been devoted to Sensei since childhood, through his father's connection with the Muraki family, and his loyalty could not be faulted.  No, of course no one's involved the police – Sakaki-san is probably just in mourning for his poor Sensei.  

Hours and hours of this.  The nurses could really talk.  I sort of wonder how they manage to get any work done.  I guess Muraki was probably very strict or something when he was actually here.

Now, I'm sitting with everyone in the break room where we're having our meeting.  There are more people than usual, plus Tatsumi bought us dinner with money from the general account (bowls of noodles delivered from the ramen shop down the street), so it's what they call a 'working dinner meeting.'  

In any case, I'm not sure how it turned out this way, but across the table from us are Wakaba and Terazuma (Terazuma's directly across from me), to my right is Tsuzuki, and to his right is Muraki.  Of course, at the head of the table is Tatsumi who is right next to Muraki, so I guess it doesn't matter that much if Muraki is near Tsuzuki, because if Muraki tries anything, Tatsumi could slap him into the ground faster then you can blink…but it's still *really weird*.  I get the vague undertone of resentment off of Muraki, so I can only imagine Terazuma whacking him around and threatening him into eating a decent meal.  

Tsuzuki is looking a bit wistfully at Muraki, who's half-heartedly eating his dinner.  

Oh, I don't mean to say that Tsuzuki wants something from Muraki other than his tempura shrimp.  I can tell.  You know, the empathy thing. 

Tempura shrimp is not a code for anything.  It's just tempura shrimp.  

So weird thoughts aside, it seems like Muraki doesn't seem to care who's looking at him.  In fact, he looks like hell.  Curiosity takes me to a bad place, so I decide to see if I can figure out why he's like that.  Hesitantly, I extend my senses further, just a bit.  

Waaah.  I almost drop my chopsticks, because his head's full of…er…images of long white hair.  And dismemberingness.  Which is not a real word.  

Oh, and now I guess I better pay attention.  Tatsumi's about to start.  He gives a summary of where we are in this case, and what needs to be done from here on out.  Apparently, since no one can find Saki, we're going to have to do it the old fashioned way, by tracking down boring administrative details like if he bought a house or if he's got a car registered to him.  The Gushoushin are already tracking the paperwork on the man, so it should only be a matter of time before we see some sort of result.  However, this means that tomorrow we're out in Tokyo again to help resolve minor cases while divisions four and five look for Saki, since Kyushu is as usual, (or at least, as usual since Tsuzuki stabbed Muraki in Kyoto) nice and quiet.

"…so that's where we stand.  Any questions?"

"Sure," Terazuma says.  "What do we do when we find the guy?"

"We will deal with him based on the situation," Tatsumi replies.  "Ideally, we will do an initial interview, and, based on that, field an investigation into his past.  Afterwards, I'll submit a letter of request to Enma's office regarding termination or continuation.  Depending on the information we give, along with any other circumstantial evidence that we find, Enma's office will make a decision, and we will follow it through according to his judgment."  Tatsumi's sitting with his hands folded neatly in front of him, a cool and crisp contrast to his partner, who hasn't said a thing in the last half hour, other than sit there looking placidly blank while his head spins with all sorts of ugly, nasty things, like human bones crunching in a fire.

"Why do you say situational, Tatsumi-san?" Wakaba blinks.  "Shouldn't it just be a clear case of interview, investigation, and judgment?"

"Ideally, yes, but if even Tsuzuki-san cannot find him through magical means, it's quite possible that this Shidou Saki is a strong magician in his own right."  Oblique Muraki reference.  Muraki doesn't flinch.

"What do we do if that's the case?" I ask, curious.

"Again, it depends on the situation," Tatsumi repeats.  "We'll know when we get there."

Tsuzuki's starting to reek curiosity.  "Ne, Tatsumi.  What happens if we can't find him?"

"I'm sure that we can find him, Tsuzuki-san," Tatsumi says confidently.  "I have faith in you, and the rest of the Shinigami on this case.  You all are among the best of Summons Division. We will find Shidou Saki."  At that, Tsuzuki's twitching with guilt inside, but of course, he's great at not showing it.  I just sort of try to look humble.

Meeting concluded, and with fifteen minutes to spare before the hour.  EnmaCho Summons Division is safe for another day from the ravages of Terazuma and Tsuzuki's shikigami.  Terazuma stops to talk to Tatsumi, Tsuzuki helps Wakaba clean up, and I notice Muraki slipping out, opening the door with a mechanical precision that makes me kind of worried.

So of course, being the genius that I am, I follow him, curious as to where he's going.

At this point, let me say a few things about Muraki's state of mind.  The first time I encountered him seriously; it was like dipping my head into a big jar of live bees.  Think of the image.  Now take that, and make it really dark, and that's pretty much what it felt like.  Messy, blurry, and I couldn't figure out what the hell was going on, other than that it was dark, twisty, it stung, and damned if I was going to try to stay in there for long.

After he showed up here, the few times I ran into him, it was like a normal person's head.  The usual sensation of emotions and thoughts.  Of course, that little interlude's over now, and…well, I think I mentioned the dismemberment?

Right now, he feels like I'm dipping my brain in a viscous black mess that makes up the inside of his head.  The bees are gone, but it's still sticky with weird dark feelings and goo…so imagine a big jar of tarry mud with little branches and sticks in there to poke you in the face, and dunk your head into that. 

Yeah.  Kind of like that.

Muraki makes his way outside.  It's nearly a full moon, and with stray sakura petals lilting along the breeze giving the night sky a tinge of pink, it's an eerie juxtaposition, as if I'm thirteen again, and I'm about to run into the worst thing that happened in my life.  Once outside, he sort of stumbles over to the lawn and sits down on the grass carelessly, staring up at the moon as if it were the most interesting thing in the universe.

The worst person.  I take a deep breath.  I'm not thirteen anymore.  I have spells of my own to protect me.  And within hearing distance are at least three men and a girl who could conceivably wipe Meifu with bits and chunks of Muraki, not to mention the fact that there's a peace division and Enma's own influence.

So I take another deep breath, and walk over to Muraki.  I sit down next to him, far enough so that he can't reach me without getting up, but close enough to hear him.

He doesn't do anything.  He just sort of sits and stares at the moon.  His feelings seem to have calmed down a little, but he's still seething with weird twisty black thoughts.

"Hey," I say.  Amazingly, my voice doesn't crack from all the nervousness that I'm feeling.

"Good evening."  Muraki stares blindly at the moon, as if somehow that can tell him something.

"Is everything all right?"  I ask hesitantly, wondering what his response will be.  I feel tense, that this is a bad idea, and that I should run or something before he takes it into his head to do something bad to me.

"No."  Muraki's voice makes it sound like he feels nothing, even as his emotions are roiling with upset.

"Did something happen?"  My questions get bolder, since he doesn't seem to do anything other than watch the moon move ever so slowly across the sky.

"Yes."  The answer comes a lot stiffer than I would have imagined.  Something pretty bad must have happened on top of the whole Saki thing, because he is really screwed up inside.

"What?"

"Your concern is appreciated, but it's nothing that you should be worried about."  Muraki's so polite that he sounds like he's running on autopilot.

"Okay.  But will you answer me a question?" I venture.  There's something that's been bothering me for a long time, and maybe it's just odd enough a request that he'll stop being full of sticks and mud, and start thinking clearly enough that we can get some work done around here.  

In any case, I hate mud.  

"Perhaps.  What do you want to know?"  Muraki asks dully.

"Why did you let me kill you?"

Muraki turns to me for the first time since our conversation began, and looks at me, almost confused.  "Let you, kill me?"

"Yeah.  It was a little too convenient.  How you told me where you would be, and how our spells got tangled.  You know I carry a gun.  I shot out your circle in Nagasaki.  You never even really told me why you asked me to meet you there."

Muraki blinks, the inky darkness retreating as his brain starts wandering through the various events that had led him to this moment.

"I…I suppose that it was what I wanted," he says, softly, as if he's not really talking to me, but to someone else.  "It seemed like a good idea…"

"Why?"  It's such a strange sensation, as though we're no longer Hisoka and Muraki with all that our shared past entails, but just two strangers discussing a personal secret as only strangers manage to do.

"Because there was nothing else to live for.  I couldn't kill him and make the hurt go away.  And I couldn't save her because she would never be all right again.  So I did what I thought I should have done so very long ago…less people would have had to die that way…" Muraki's voice is very quiet, as if he's the boy and I'm the adult.

"What about me?  Why did you…do that?  With the curse, under the tree…" I don't know why I'm asking him this.  I feel like I'm going to get into a world of trouble here, but I have to know.  Especially now that he's actually opened up a little.

Muraki looks at me, as if remembering who I am, but then, the recognition seems to slip from his eyes, as he remembers something that sends stabbing cold chills through him as the words slip out of his mouth unheeded.

"Because I needed to.  You were too much like me, and I couldn't stand it.  You looked just like me when I was that age.  I wanted to kill off that weak, that Kazutaka…end it so that you wouldn't grow up to become…but I couldn't…"

And that's the end of that, because as he talks, Muraki turns his head and sees Terazuma off in the distance, standing guard.  I didn't notice him, so he must have been very quiet (both his feelings and his feet).  I have no idea how long he was watching.

"Yo."  Terazuma waves.  Seeing that Muraki's noticed him and stopped talking, Terazuma walks up to us.  I'd like to think that he was far enough away to have not heard us, but Terazuma's hearing is pretty impressive, so I don't know how much he's overheard.  "How's it going?"

"Not bad," I say.  "Just asking Muraki how his first real big case is like."  

"Mmm, okay," Terazuma says, and I can feel his skepticism.  "In any case, your partner's waiting for you, Kurosaki.  Better go home and get some sleep, all right?  Big day tomorrow."

"Sounds good," I say.  "See you guys tomorrow."

"Tomorrow it is," Muraki says to me pleasantly, as he gets up and dusts himself off.  "Good night."  All traces of our conversation are lost in the flurry of sakura petals skittering along the wind.

***

"Ne, Hisoka."  Tsuzuki's walking me back to my apartment.  The moon's light is so bright tonight that they haven't bothered turning on the streetlights, so everything is bathed in a pale blue-white glow, the shadows of the trees deep and menacing.  But I'm not afraid.  We take our time walking back to my place, trying to make our time together last longer.

"Yeah?"  I give Tsuzuki's hand a squeeze, my fingers twined with his, and I can feel his smile.

"I talked to Tatsumi after you went outside," Tsuzuki lets my hand go, and puts his arm around me, pulling me closer as we walk.  Tingly bits of warmth dance along my nerves as I feel the weight of his arm around my shoulders.  

"What did he have to say?"

"He didn't say anything very specific," Tsuzuki says, "But I get the feeling that he's going along with this for Muraki's sake."

"Why would he do that?" I ask.

"To get him out of Meifu," Tsuzuki replies.  "I think Tatsumi's convinced that if Muraki's allowed to kill Saki, he'll wrap up what's keeping him tied to Chijou, and move on.  Or, failing that, he'll get punished and sent somewhere else.  Either way, that means no more Muraki."

"That's reasonable," I say.  "I'd want that too if I were Tatsumi."

"But then, that means Saki would be dead," Tsuzuki says.  "And if I can prevent another person from dying because of that man…no matter what, I want to try."

I nod.  "I believe you, Tsuzuki."

We've passed the park, and are almost to my apartment.  It's kind of disappointing to know that afterwards, Tsuzuki's just going to go home, but I guess that's the way things are.  Fleeting.

And now we're home.  Well, my home.  I guess Tsuzuki's going to his apartment after this.  We pause in the moonlit twilight, standing awkwardly at my doorstep.  

"Muraki told me something strange," I say, finally, breaking the silence.  Tsuzuki flinches.  

"When did you talk to him?" Prickles of worry.

"When I ran into him on the lawn.  Right after the meeting."  

"What?"  

"He was feeling…weird.  I can't explain it that well.  Bees and mud." I gesture helplessly.  "So I followed him, and we talked.  Don't worry so loud at me.  Terazuma followed us out.  He was there the entire time."  Definitely an embellishment, but I'm still alive, so I guess that's okay.

Tsuzuki frowns.  He doesn't like it, but it's past and I'm in one piece, so he's a bit more relieved, but still concerned.  "What did Muraki have to say?"

"That I look like him when he was still a kid.  He thought that he and I were alike."  There, I said it.

"I don't believe that.  Not for a moment." Tsuzuki says, his emotions gaining an edge of anger.

"I don't know why he said that," I say, fumbling with the keys a bit in the dark, trying to open the door.  "I guess he's just crazy.  Hey, Tsuzuki, do you want to come in?" I finally manage to get the door open, and turn on the light.  Warm light floods out the doorway, and we both blink, our eyes adjusting.

With that little question, the anger's gone as quickly as it came.  Tsuzuki pauses.  It's long enough to make me want to strangle him.  Just make a decision already! 

"Sure," Tsuzuki says, finally.  He gives me a smile that says a lot while not saying anything at all.  Of course, the thoughts behind it are a lot more colorful, so I can feel the heat rise up in my cheeks.

I shut the door behind us.

*******

Sakaki 

Many years ago, it was settled between Muraki and Oriya in private that if anything was to happen to Muraki, Sakaki was to go to Kyoto.  As Muraki's demise is ascertained (through the accessing of accounts that now show liquidation via death of the account holder), Sakaki will follow his deceased employer's dictates.  

In the main Tokyo Train Station, there's a small locker that he rents by the month for his employer.  Sakaki keeps some money in it, an extra rail pass with enough credit to get a person halfway across Japan, as well as some spare clothes and other miscellaneous items, in case Muraki ever needs anything while he's traveling.

Drowning in the large, light gray wool coat and the white shoes a few sizes too large, with his icy feet aching with cold and his short black hair slicked wet against his skull, Sakaki manages to catch the train that will arrive in Kyoto just an hour shy of midnight.

While the Tokaido Shinkansen zips along at over 180 miles per hour, he dozes off and has a whisper of a dream, feeling safe for the first time in weeks.

***

Sakaki remembers this winter the most.  A lot of things happened that year.  His father died, and his mother became ill.

It was an accident.  A plane crash.  Sensei (at the time, barely a year out of medical school) had asked the elder Sakaki to accompany the Mibus to Hokkaido.  There, they would go on their separate ways.  The Mibus were on vacation.  Father was working, as he always was.

But now, with his father's death, Sakaki's catapulted into adulthood.  Like the dove-gray coat that's around his now sleeping shoulders, the gap that his father's death left was too large for him to fit.

In Sakaki's dream, his mother won't stop crying.  She's always been a strong woman, and he's never felt like he needed to protect her, so he doesn't know what to do.  He's too young to know what to do, so he shies away, because he's afraid of her emotions, the tears that stream down her face, and it only hurts her more.

The service is in Kyoto.  Sakaki stays with his mother in a hotel, and Sensei stays with Oriya-san.  Sakaki spends most of his time watching his mother drink herself into an alcoholic stupor.  He says nothing, staying quiet.  He just cleans up after she passes out.

During the ceremony, Sakaki goes through the motions as the new head of his household, his clumsy adolescent actions trying to parallel Oriya's calm grace.  They ignore each other studiously.  

Afterwards Sakaki takes his mother home, and manages everything in the household - cleaning, cooking, paying bills – learning everything from scratch, and hiding from everyone the fact that his mother has gone just a little insane.  It takes about a year, but the little madness becomes so immense that eventually, Sensei steps in and has her sent to a sanatorium.

Sakaki still doesn't cry as the family home is sold off, and he goes to live with Sensei for a few weeks until his new school starts, a highly ranked boarding school in Tokyo where everything will be provided.  But then, one day, as Sensei is cooking breakfast for him, something about the scent of the miso soup reminds him of a certain morning when his mother and father are cooking breakfast together, and they're smiling, and they kiss, and everything is just normal, and he loses it.  

In Sakaki's dream, he's fourteen again, and Sensei's arms are around him.  Somewhere in the background, the kitchen smells like miso and fresh-cooked rice, and Sensei's shirt is smooth against his cheek.  And Sensei's voice says that it's all right to cry…It's all right…

Sakaki wakes up with a jerk as the train pulls into Kyoto station.  Blinking, he rubs at his eyes and gets up.  It's a bit more than an hour to midnight, and he needs to find his way to Kokakurou.

***

Thankfully, there is enough money left over to take a taxi, at least part way.  Sakaki doesn't think he can manage in the shoes, not without further damage to his feet than what has already been done.  Already, his feet are sore and blistered from walking without shoes earlier.

It's a Monday night, and Kokakurou is dark – the one day of the week that the restaurant is closed.  Sakaki knocks anyway; hoping that one of the servants is still in.  No answer – everyone is either sleeping or out of the complex.  He sighs, disappointed, and limps his way around the complex, searching for the hidden gate that leads into Oriya's private garden, an enclosed courtyard that Oriya's rooms overlook.

There's a particular trick to the latch that Muraki taught him.  It usually takes him at least a few tries worry it open, but today he somehow manages to get it right the first time.  The door swings open; he steps in, and closes it behind him.

As he walks through the garden along the path toward the building, he can hear the tiny click of a sword being unsheathed, somewhere in the darkness.  Sakaki freezes immediately.

"Oriya-san, it's me; Sakaki," he says, his voice small and shaky.  He can't tell where Oriya is, the darkness of the trees casting everything in deep shadow.  

"I'm here." Oriya's voice is a substantial thread to cling to in the night.  The padding of footsteps, and a light comes on.  The paper-paneled door slides open, and a soft, flickering light spills out into the darkness, providing a path of illumination that Sakaki follows gratefully.

Sakaki toes off his shoes at the entrance and enters the room, sitting on his heels in the traditional style, bowing to its owner in greeting.  A futon has been laid out, and it's rumpled, the bedding tossed off as if in haste.  The room smells faintly of cedar and dried herbs, with an underlying sweet hint of pipe smoke.  He notes that Oriya's katana is at his side  – he had never supposed Oriya would sleep with the weapon, but it seems to make sense.  

Oriya studies Sakaki intently, noting the still-damp hair and oversized coat that could belong to no one other than Muraki, for its size and color.  "I had heard you were out of the country?"

"Ah, about that…" Sakaki trails off, staring at the floor, shoulders hunched beneath the heavy wool coat, looking exhausted.  "I've been with Shidou-san.  Not by choice."  Sakaki rubs his wrist absently, remembering the bonds.  "I managed to free myself earlier this evening, and came directly here."  

"And what does Shidou-san have to say?" A quaver of emotion twinges along Oriya's voice as his eyes narrow, and his fingers play along the corded hilt of his sword.  He, like everyone else, had believed that Sakaki was out of the country. 

"He told me that he had been waiting for this opportunity for a long time.  He said found Sensei's data by taking it from you.  And he tried testing his results on me," Sakaki says.  For a moment, he remembers those inhuman eyes, and he shakes his head as if trying to erase the memory.

"Results?"  Oriya's voice is cold.

"It's a formula for unlimited cell immortality."

"Alchemist's gold," Oriya says, as the pieces in his head start fitting together.  Muraki's earrings.  The dinners.  Saki's kindness.  The strange fatigue that in retrospect could only have been linked to Saki.  "What happened?  Did he succeed?"

Sakaki shakes his head.  "Something in the liquid changed him…I turned it against him, and it splashed his eyes.  The last I saw…" Sakaki shudders, as if a winter's wind has passed through.  "His eyes…they weren't right.  Like silver-white and black, but both at the same time."

"Do you know what was in it?" Oriya asks.  In his mind, he thinks about what was in the data.  Muraki had shown bits of it to him once.  Much of it was beyond his scope of understanding, but he had a fairly good idea that it had something to do with a man who was now a Shinigami, and the test results that showed exactly where he differed from normal people.

"No.  Not really.  He mentioned that it was a puzzle pieced together from two halves.  But he kept talking about how Sensei wasn't…wasn't human," Sakaki says, his eyes to the ground.  "I don't…it doesn't seem possible!"  His fingers clench angrily at the trailing edge of the pale gray coat.

Oriya frowns.  "I'm sure Shidou-san is mistaken," he says finally, ignoring that familiar voice in his memories, that distant expression, that old line about the dictates of internal programming.  

"But is he right?  About Sensei being dead?" Sakaki asks, tentatively.

"Yes.  The funeral was last week," Oriya says softly, his voice weighted with unspoken sentiment.  He closes his eyes, momentarily.  Somewhere in his memory, Muraki smiles at him, his matched quicksilver eyes bright with humor, heartbreakingly young.

"Oh."  Sakaki sounds surprised and disappointed, both at once, as if he still can't quite believe it.  It seems amazingly understated.  "I missed it, then."

"Yes."

"Was it beautiful?  The funeral."  Sakaki twists the hem of the gray coat between his fingers.  It still smells a little bit like Muraki, the coat.  He thinks about the last time he saw his employer wear this – was it last winter?  No, three winters ago, and he was at a conference with Sensei, recording panel talks on a small hand-held tape recorder.

"It was as he would have wanted.  But otherwise unremarkable, as funerals go," Oriya says, effectively ending the line of conversation.  Oriya stands up, the indigo patterned fabric of his yukata settling around him like woven bamboo shifting with the breath of the wind in a forest.  "Sakaki." 

"Yes?"  Sakaki sits up straight, his attention focused, responding to the tone of command in Oriya's voice.

"I will get you something to wear.  Change out of those wet clothes, and go to bed.  We will speak more about this in the morning." 

"Yes, Oriya-san," Sakaki bows his head in acquiescence.  He catches a glance of his wristwatch.  It's almost midnight.  The second hand ticks away silently, counting off a pause and a breath before the pumpkin hour.  Sakaki looks up to see a flutter of black at the edge of the doorway, just as Oriya makes his way across the room.

A moment later, things become very complicated, and the prospect of rest will disappear as swiftly as the splatter of an arc of blood across the tatami floor.

*******

Terazuma 

"You should go to bed, Kannuki.  It's getting late," Terazuma yawns, sprawled on one side of the couch, Wakaba sitting down beside him.  Of course, they're not touching.

"Me?  You're the one who's yawning, Hajime-chan," Wakaba says indignantly.  "Besides, I want to make sure that Tatsumi brings Kazutaka-san back in one piece."

"They'll be at it all night." Terazuma straightens to give Wakaba more room, and stretches lazily in another direction, this time putting his sock-clad feet up on the wooden coffee table.  "Bet you breakfast that they won't get back before three."

"Does that mean I'll make breakfast and you'll eat it, or does that mean you'll make breakfast and I'll feed it to the stray cats?"

"Kannuki!"  Terazuma tosses a small pillow at her playfully.  "That's just who pays, not who cooks.  Remember, we're going back out tomorrow."

"I'm just teasing," Wakaba giggles, as she hits him back with the pillow he tossed at her.  Terazuma blocks the blow with a raised arm.  "But I think Hajime-chan cares very much about his charge," Wakaba adds.

"That loser?  I don't think so," Terazuma says indignantly.  "It's just part of my job, and I'm going to do it right."

"But you're the one staying up to make sure he gets home safely."

"What?!  I didn't say that!"

"Yes, you did!  You did, you did, you did!"  Wakaba punctuates her point with swinging whacks from the pillow.  

"No, I didn't!"  Terazuma half-heartedly dodges the soft blows, the friendliest beating he's received in a long time.  Of course, he'll lose this battle, like he loses all other battles with Wakaba.

"Okay.  But you thought it!" Wakaba says, sticking her tongue out adorably at him at nearly point-blank range, shoving the pillow up against his nose, a padded barrier between the two.   "Otherwise, you wouldn't be in here sitting on the couch."

"Mmm reef mere!"  The words come out half-muffled, before he pushes the pillow out of the way, and Wakaba scoots back on the couch.  "I sleep here!" Terazuma says clearly, now that he isn't drowning in fabric and filling.

"You could make him sleep here instead of letting him use your room and your bed.  You're just a nice guy and you know it."

"Am not!"  Terazuma huffs, scowling

"Are too!"  Wakaba's hand comes up, her finger pointing out at him, wagging her finger at him as she speaks.  "You are a very nice person and I am proud that you're kind to people who you don't even think deserve it.  It says a lot about what kind of a man you are, and you shouldn't ever forget that or try to pretend otherwise."  And with that, Wakaba punctuates her point by poking Terazuma on the nose, momentarily forgetting his condition.

Terazuma nearly falls over from the shock, the electric touch of skin touching skin, her finger soft against the tip of his nose.  Scuttling back, he readies himself for the inevitable change, the sudden fierce tearing and fiery rage of an uncontrolled transformation.  

Nothing happens.

"Oro?"  Wakaba looks at her finger.  And then looks at Terazuma's nose.  The two are frozen in their respective places on the couch, Wakaba with her finger still out as if to poke him, Terazuma looking as if he's about to try to climb over the couch.

"That…I didn't change?"  Terazuma blinks, patting his chest and arms as if he can't tell for certain what just happened.

"I…did I find a safe spot on you to touch?"  Wakaba blinks.  "Here, let me try it again."  Wakaba reaches out with her index finger, carefully, as Terazuma leans forward, both of them afraid to try this experiment again for the sake of their living room furnishings, but curious enough to risk some broken glass.

Gently, Wakaba's finger touches his nose.  Again, that vibrant twinge of sensation, of another person's skin against his, and Terazuma is filled with a surprise that borders on shock, but it's mixed with something else.  

Terazuma blinks, staring cross-eyed at that slender finger, a feathery light touch that seems almost afraid to press the issue further, to explore more than just that tiny patch of skin at the tip of his nose.

 "Maybe if I…" Wakaba moves her finger, readying herself to explore the around that patch of skin, to see if there was more that was safe to touch.

And then, with the clattering alarm that only unexpected phone calls manage to make, they both jump like two startled cats with their fur in disarray.  Terazuma's heart pounds wildly (but it's not just from the phone) as Wakaba picks up the receiver.

"Hello?"

Terazuma frowns to himself, wondering what the hell just happened.  Inside though, he's smiling.

*******

Hisoka 

At about this point, we give up all pretenses and…I kiss him. 

Okay, so 'that point' is when we step inside the door.  I've barely closed it when I can feel the touch of his breath against my cheek.  Tsuzuki moves so quietly when he wants to that I didn't even notice him until I was nearly in his arms.

But I kiss him first, this time.  Of course, he kisses back.

If you want me to exactly explain what happens next, I'm not exactly sure myself.  That's the weird thing about being so open to Tsuzuki – I feel him, and I feel me, and…it's very mixed up and complicated.  

In a rush and tangle of limbs, we end up with my…no, his back to the wall, pressing against each other as if we could somehow meld our bodies together.

Which in some ways, it was for me.  Complex bits of memory, feeling, thought; little pieces like scattered petals coalescing into a flower of unusual loveliness, and I am falling, falling into him, even as our lips touch and our mouths find each other.

"Tsuzuki."  It's a breathless exhortation, and I don't exactly know what I needed, why I had to say it, but it's there – a sound that ties me closer to him as the lamp we bump into casts weird dancing shadows along the wall.

"Mmm."  He is too busy to talk, of course, his hands sliding beneath my shirt or was it my hands sliding beneath his shirt or my shirt or…

Sudden noise.  I almost fall over from our shared surprise.  The telephone?  At this hour?

"Don't answer it."  I grab his tie and drag him down for another kiss, nearly strangling him in the process.  Tsuzuki manages to untangle himself from me as the phone rings again.  

"If they're calling this late, it's got to be something important," Tsuzuki reasons.  I scowl, with all the muster my adolescent self can bring forth, irritated at the interruption.  Tsuzuki winks at me.  "Don't make that face.  There's always time."

"Right."  Trust him to be the responsible one at times when I'd rather be irresponsible.  

"Moshi moshi?"  Tsuzuki answers the phone.  "Eh?  Er…Hisoka?  He's busy."  A pause.  "No, he's fully clothed!  I just got to the phone before…what?  Ah, all right.  Mmm.  We'll be right there."  Almost forgetting to hang up the phone, Tsuzuki grabs his coat, which we somehow managed to get off somewhere between the entry and the living room.

"What's going on?" I ask as I hang up the phone properly and start straightening my disarrayed clothing.  The lamp's knocked askew, so I straighten the shade, and right the wronged shadows.

"We're going to Kyoto," Tsuzuki says while he straightens his tie.  "The Gushoushin have been tracking Saki all night.  They couldn't find him, so on a hunch, they looked up the next best person, which was Muraki's secretary.  There's been no trace of anything in the last couple weeks from him – none of the usual paper trail of bank activity or anything else like that. But just now, in the last couple hours, there have been three attempts to access some of Muraki's old accounts, as well as someone accessing one of Muraki's permanent rail passes to reserve a seat on the express to Kyoto."  

"What does that mean?"

"According to Muraki, it means that it's an emergency.  He and Tatsumi already left to see if they can catch Sakaki at the train station, and Tatsumi had Watari call us and division four to make sure we got the call to go to Kyoto and back them up.  Terazuma and Wakaba going to meet them at the train station. You and I are going to Kokakurou." 

"Well, what are you waiting for?"  I say, catching his hand, all thoughts of the previous few moments of intimacy pushed off to the side. "Let's go."

******

Out of the corner of his eye, just as he is about to unfurl the heavy quilt, Oriya sees a movement that is not Sakaki, and in a quick, almost gliding motion, drops the quilt and sweeps his sword off the ground before him.  "Sakaki!"

"Shidou-san!"  Sakaki nearly trips over himself trying to get out of the way as Saki enters through the door he had just come in from, through the illuminated garden path that still shines its light out, a beacon in the dark.

"Sakaki?"  The voice, it's twisted, not the same, something wrong, something right…it's indescribably beautiful and ugly, both together, fused into an indescribable rasp that is undeniably inhuman.  Saki's unearthly eyes turn toward Sakaki blindly.  "Sakaki.  You tried to kill me."

"No!  I never did!"  

"You shot me in the back because you thought I wanted to hurt him.  The wound goes all the way through.  I almost died."

"That's impossible!"  Sakaki scuttles back against the floor, his sock-clad feet slipping on the smooth rush.  "I was just a child when that happened!"

"You lie," the rasp continues.  "I know it was you.  I saw you when I turned my head.  You were the one who told Kazutaka you would take care of me."  Saki strides forward, implacable, his tortured eyes intent on Sakaki.

"That's not me." Sakaki's voice is choked with emotion, laced with horror.  He's got his back to a wooden chest, frozen with fear.  "That was my father."

A sudden flash of metal between them as Saki lunges forward, and an arc of blood splatters against the tatami floor.  Droplets of crimson fleck the pristine purity of the paper-paneled doors, and the blood begins to soak in ever so slowly, marring the blankness.

"Stay back." Oriya's voice is soft, but deadly, determination cooling his emotions and focusing his thoughts as razor-sharp as the blood-slicked sword in his hands.

And with that, all hell breaks loose.

Sensing a disturbance, Saki turns, distracted.  Tsuzuki and Hisoka appear in the garden, the flickering glow of the lamp casting their faces clearly in the light.   It's a moment of hesitation on Oriya's part, but before he can strike, Saki's already moved, faster than anyone could have imagined.

"Kazutaka!"  The word's tainted with pain, pulled out of Saki with all the poignancy of a broken heart.  He almost sounds human.  Tsuzuki sees Hisoka flinch from the recoil of emotions.   Tsuzuki wonders if Muraki's arrived with Tatsumi, but he suddenly realizes that Saki's call is directed at Hisoka.

It only takes a second of hesitation.  The Shinigami stand dumbfounded as Saki moves forth like the cresting wave of water, his form quavering as though for a moment, he might just disappear.

And he does, a breath later.  But not by himself.  

Where there were two Shinigami, there is now one.

Tsuzuki stares dumbfounded as a whisper of feathers, the hint of darkness, a trail of light and a touch of shadow whisk away in the wind, leaving him standing alone on the stone path that leads inside.  The light gutters with the chill breeze, the lamp blowing out, leaving Tsuzuki drenched in night as somewhere inside, Oriya, bloodstained sword in hand, kneels to relight the flame.

"Hisoka?"  Tsuzuki turns his head, wondering where his partner could have gone.  Of course, he couldn't have wandered off by himself, could he?  

Realization sets in quickly after that.  

By the time the others arrive, it's too late.

To be continued….

*******

**Thanks**:  Thanks to my prereaders Cyrus and Danceswithelvis, and my proofreader, Aeanagwen (who, by the way, does double duty because she also prereads).  These people have helped me through every stage of this endeavor.  Thank you also, the readers, for having patience with me and following me along this far.  This is my first serious 'work in progress' and I am amazed I've gotten so far in the story.  Special thanks to RubyD, who is on hiatus from prereading.  The omake's for you, D.  : )

**Author's notes**: The little opening bit is a repeat of some notes I wrote at one point on fic ideas for Yami.  The tempura shrimp scene is inspired by a sketch on page 54 of the Yami sketchbook.  Pages 64-65 also have images of a dark-haired prototype Muraki harassing/molesting Hisoka, which was part of the inspiration for this chapter. With any luck, I'll be able to finish it in another two chapters.  I'm going to see if I can finish by the end of the year.  *crosses fingers*

In the omake, Kokakuran is a place that was created by RubyD in an hourfic challenge posted on her livejournal – it's making a cameo here.  Tokyo branch Kokakuran (inspired by RubyD's naming) can be found in a humorous X/1999 fic by Geoduck titled "Dream a little dream of me." 

Omake!  What if Saki and Muraki got along?

**Brotherly Love**

It's a reunion twenty years overdue, somewhere between a few actual murders, an attempted murder, one mechanical eye, a one-way flight out of the country, vampires, semi-zombies, a blonde porcelain doll named Veronica, and a man with purple eyes that just won't seem to hold still. 

The results, of course, are spectacular.  

"Saki?"

"Kazutaka?"

And not exactly what you might have expected.

*******

Somewhere in Kyoto, there's a place you may have been to before, if you're assiduous in keeping up with the local gossip.  In fact, one may say that it's a hub of goings-on.  Its Tokyo branch is a plush and elegant affair, lovely enough to tempt young men into taking their princesses out to dinner.  The Kyoto branch, however, functions more as a bar and less as a restaurant, having been strongly outshone by its neighbor with the similar name.

Welcome to Kokakuran.  Please do not confuse it with its eastern neighbor. 

This place is, in fact, a dive.  However, due to some particularly curious geographic sentiments, it's also a safe haven.

"Sensei!"  The voice is poignant with regret.  "Why did you have to…have to do that?"  

"That?"  The bartender looks up.  For purposes of identification, he will henceforth be referred to as 'Jimmy.'  That may or may not be his real name.

"That!  Oh, and another shot, please, sir."  The young man slumps against the surprisingly clean surface of the wooden bar and raises his glass for a refill.  "I'll need it, to erase what I just saw."

"What did you see?"  Jimmy asks while he pours the young man a double.  He thinks that the young man is as pale as if he's seen a ghost.

"Oh, my former employer and his current brother…One should be dead and the other shouldn't be, but now they're both supposed to be dead…and…oh, I don't understand it anymore!"  The young man takes a long drink, and then chokes on the fiery spirit.

"Easy there.  Ghosts are nothing to be afraid of," Jimmy says.  "Why, just the other day I saw a programme about it on the telly."  For purposes of identification, Jimmy is also not a Brit, nor should he be spelling like one.  "Were they flitting about? Chasing you around with promises of vengeance?"

"No, it was worse.  Much worse!"  The young man is disconsolate, staring at the melting ice of his drink.  The ice clinks uncaringly.  "They were…both of them…were doing something to the young master.  Something perverse…with ropes and nudity and pulleys." 

"What happened?"

The young man buries his face in his arms, as if he could use that as a means of disappearing.  The answer's so muffled that the bartender isn't certain that he hears it correctly. "…I thought it was…really hot…"  

***

Meanwhile…

In the afterlife called Meifu, there is an agency that evaluates the sins and good deeds of people when they were once alive.  

Currently, this agency is having a crisis.  Mainly because its staff appears to have completely disappeared.

"Excuse me?  Aren't we supposed to be working today?"  Chief Konoe walks around the offices, room by room.  "Hello?  It's Monday…"

But it's empty.  Even the library.

***

Tousled dark brown hair.

Currently bloodshot blue eyes.

He's walking funny?  

Two chickens, an empath, and a shadow user walk into a bar. 

Into Kokakuran (not to be confused with its illustrious neighbor), to be precise, where Sakaki sits at its lonesome bar drinking.  This particular young man has recently suffered the loss of his livelihood as well as the gain of secondhand carnal knowledge.

In contrast, the new guests of this dubious bar have brought with them further knowledge – firsthand, if you will, of the doings and done-ings that have been taking place in all corners of the world.

It appears that somewhere between Muraki's predilection for domination through bondage, and Saki's inexhaustible understanding of human biochemistry, nothing, nowhere, and no one between Heaven and Hell (quite literally) is safe.

Well, no one, except in this odd little corner of the universe, where, somewhere between lay lines and kekkais and well-placed Starbucks, all are safe from the ravages of pesky humans and Shinigami alike.

"Thank you, Kurosaki-kun, for finding this safe place," Tatsumi pants, as he stumbles through the doorway, Hisoka leaning heavily into him.  "Had it not been for your interest in obscure texts, more could have been…"

"It's okay, Tatsumi-san.  You don't have to say it.  I understand.  Remember, I was there when it happened," Hisoka says, wincing, as he hobbles his way over to the bar.  The humanoid chickens are silent, stunned into some sort of shell-shocked state as they hover and float along shakily after Hisoka.

Sakaki turns his head to the newcomers.  If he appears to recognize these newcomers, please pretend that it makes sense.

"Oh, it's you!" Sakaki looks puzzled.  "But I thought you two were…"

"Back home, safe and sound?  Not since *those two* decided to kiss and make up," Tatsumi says, easing what appears to be a tender backside onto a barstool.  Eventually, he gives up trying to sit, and instead leans against the sturdy wood of the bar. 

"He isn't joking when he says, 'kiss' either," Hisoka adds. "They're total sluts.  Even with each other."

"Sensei?  A slut?"  Sakaki doesn't seem to look fazed.  "Somehow I can see that.  When I think about it, there were always signs.  Like that giant party-sized jug of lube."

For a moment, no one else knows what to say.  

"It's horrible!"  The elder Gushoushin collapses onto the countertop, tail feathers awry.  "I think they're trying to take over the world!"

"No one's safe no one's safe no one's safe no one's safe…" The younger trails off, rocking himself back and forth, broken pinfeathers scattering when he shivers.

"Even Tsuzuki can't fight them," Hisoka adds sadly.  "When he calls his shikigami, they molest them too."

"All twelve," Tatsumi says, bewildered.  "Don't even ask me how they did it – it took the better part of a day.  Even Tenkuu, the building, wasn't safe."

"All twelve…" Sakaki shakes his head.  "Where is Tsuzuki-san now?"

"Don't ask," came the response, this time simultaneous from both Hisoka and Tatsumi.  

"That…that's awful," Sakaki says.  

"Tell me about it," Tatsumi says.  "We're just lucky that they grew bored and left for Chijou for a while.  I wonder where they could be."

Sakaki gets a sudden twinge of guilt, remembering why he was in Kokakuran instead of Kokakurou. "They're at Kokakurou.  Oh, I'm such a coward!  I ran when I saw what they were doing to Oriya-san."  Sakaki stares mournfully at his feet.

"It's okay," Hisoka says to Sakaki.  "Just be glad you came out safe.  Oriya will be fine." 

There's a fairly long silence in which our forgotten bartender Jimmy lays out fresh glasses.  "Excuse me, gentlemen, but can someone vouch for this kid?" Jimmy says, gesturing at Hisoka.  "It's against the law to serve alcohol to minors."

"I can vouch for everyone," Tatsumi says.  "Please pour us all a round of whiskey."  Hisoka gives Jimmy an odd look as he pours small glasses for the Gushoushin.

"What?  It's not against the law to serve chickens booze."

Glasses of whiskey on ice are passed out and drunk, with the expected choking and coughing that follows.

"Now that I think about it, Tatsumi-san," Hisoka says, after a healthy bout of sputtering at the strong liquor, "where are the others?"

"Others?  My guess is that they're either hiding or have escaped."  

"Where could they go that would be safe?" Hisoka asks.

Tatsumi shakes his head.  "I genuinely don't know anymore, Kurosaki-kun.  Hokkaido perhaps?"

At that moment, the door to Kokakuran flings open, and two dreaded figures darken its doorstep.  One tall and dark, the other tall and pale, both ready to administer their brand of justice upon the world.

"Prepare for trouble…"

"…And make it double."  

Instantly, there's a scramble in which various barstools are toppled, glasses flung, and chickens clutched.  

"You didn't think that you could hide from us here, did you, Sakaki-san?" Saki says with a wry smile.

"Really, Saki, you know that he didn't mean to run away," Muraki says soothingly.  "Don't you want to assist me, Sakaki-kun?  I know you're just a little nervous."

Sakaki looks torn.  He stands frozen with fear, like a rabbit caught between two panthers.  "I…no, Sensei, I want to help, it's just that…"

Of course, it gets more complex.

"Hold it, right there!" A girl's voice interrupts.  She's joined by another of similar height, both of them petite and delicate creatures.  Their silhouettes hold in the doorway for a moment before stepping through.

"Yuma!  Saya!"  Tatsumi's eyes grow wide.  "What are you two doing here?"  

"We heard about your problems, and we're here to help out!"  Yuma says defiantly as she barges up to Muraki and Saki, who are looking completely stunned. 

"Wakaba and Terazuma came to us at the first sign of trouble," Saya explains while she follows in Yuma's wake, moving off to one side as if to corral the brothers and keep them from escaping.

"You two?"  Muraki raises a skeptical eyebrow.  "I can hardly think that the two of you are up to stopping the two of us."

"Not unless, of course, you would like to spend some time together in private," Saki says charmingly.

"Not a chance, villains!  Take that!  Ten Thousand Ribbons of the Pink House Attack!"  

***

And so, once more, the day is saved from the ravages of Team Brotherly Love, thanks to Yuma and Saya, with a little help from a deadly combination of genki, kawaii, and crossdressing.

End!  Thank you for reading!  Chapter 9 to come soon…

Eyecatch, from the proofreader's comments: 

Curiosity takes me to a bad place, and I decide to see if I can figure out why he's like that, so hesitantly, I extend my senses further, just a bit. 

Aeanagwen: *snickers*  Show us on the doll where he touched you, Hisoka-kun.


	9. The True Death, Part 5

The True Death, Part 5 

Summary: Getting through the night.

Saki 

            It's never real, this nightmare that goes on and on.  Just a dream, merely something that happened a long time ago.  Saki repeats the words to himself until the sounds lose their meaning.

            Still, he continues through the forest, the muddy ground squelching beneath his steps, caking his shoes.  It's summer, not hot enough yet for the cicadas to call, but hot enough for it to be uncomfortable.  He wipes the sweat from his brow, and continues on.

            Mother.  It passes through his mouth before he realizes he's said it aloud.

            He's been here before, but he still doesn't know where to find her.

            It's been over twenty years and much has changed.  The road that once led a neat path through the cemetery is now eaten up, only traces of it remaining as the forest reclaims what it rightfully owns.  He hears a loud snap above him and his heart jumps as the broken branch of a tree cracks onto the ground before him, missing him by bare inches.  

            It's a bad omen.

            Angry ghosts, the dwelling of the dead, and here, the cemetery ridge is drowning in green, the plants having erased the traces of humanity.

            Here is where the unwanted were buried years ago.  No one comes to visit them anymore and even the cemetery's keeper is long gone, his rickety shack left to crumble into nothingness.  

            Decay, moss, and the filtered green light of the sun.  When Saki steps onto a small log to escape the mud, it only crushes beneath his foot, completely rotten through.  

            Flies swirl up in clouds, mosquitoes whine their shrill song, and he forges on through the slicing blades of grass, grown nearly as tall as himself, picking his way among tall grave markers as vines tangle and catch at his ankles.  Somewhere nearby, the creaks of a stand of bamboo swaying in the breeze sounds like the aching bones of an old house settling. 

            Saki's foot touches a fern – it trembles away from his shoe, shrinking from contact.  He makes his way up the ridge, looking for the right grave.  Nothing looks the same anymore.

            "Mother?  I'm here."  His voice sounds pathetically small to him as he carefully steps through the graves, jumbled into a meaningless meander over the years.  Saki softly intones prayers as he walks, hoping that the dead will forgive his intrusion into their world.

            Finally, he's found himself at the top of the hill, where the afternoon sun beats down heaviest upon his head.  Saki looks up at the cloudless sky and wishes that he had thought to bring water.  He didn't know that the neatly kept cemetery of his childhood memory would have turned into a tangled jungle.  But twenty years is a long time.

            "Mother…" Saki's eyes close, the salt of his sweat stinging his eyes.  "I can't find you," he finally admits to himself.  

            Still, he keeps looking.

            It's been hours.  Saki keeps searching for the small wooden cross with her name on it that would have demarcated her tomb.  He remembers having fought the church even for that piece of comfort – in the end, he had filched the wood himself, and written her name upon it in his shaky hand, adding it to the anonymous stone marker that didn't even note her name.  

            Saki's hands are sliced from tearing futilely at the tall grasses and he's lightheaded from dehydration.  He knows now that he has to give up.  

            Blood mixes with the stinging salt of sweat and he wipes his hands on his pale khaki trousers, leaving crimson smears along the cloth.  He buries his face in his arms, blotting out the unending green and the relentless sun, if for just one moment.

            "I can't find you…where are you?"  Saki whispers.  "Please, God, let me find my mother…Please…"

*******

Hisoka 

            He won't let me go.  Oh please, someone find me.  Tsuzuki.  Tatsumi.  Anyone.  

            Oh please let me go.  I can't keep seeing this in his mind.  I can't bear it anymore.  Stop it.  Please, just stop. 

            Please…   

*******

Oriya 

            The first thing he does is wipe the blood off his katana and sheath the blade.  Oriya carefully folds the square of the cloth into a smaller square and sets the blood-soaked scrap on his desk.

            "Sakaki.  Are you hurt?"  Oriya asks.  The words startle Sakaki into cognition.  Sakaki blinks, as though he's just woken up.

            "I'm fine."  However, he doesn't sound fine, his words shaky and unsure.  Sakaki absently rubs at a stray drop of drying blood on his shirt.  "Are you all right, Oriya-san?"

            "Of course."  Oriya steps out of the room onto the porch, cold night air seeping through the layers of his clothes to touch his warm flesh.  

            Before him stands the shinigami, the one that he has only seen from a distance, the one with violet eyes.  Tsuzuki looks scared and lost, like a child who has come a long way alone through a dark forest.  He's rummaging through his pockets madly for something, and he finally pulls out a crumpled piece of paper.

            Oriya can feel the magic limned along the characters written into the ofuda as if it's a net made of shining threads, heavier along the lines of the spell, lighter along the blank expanses of the paper.  It's more powerful than anything he's ever been near, with the exception of Muraki.

            "Tsuzuki-san."  Oriya knows the name.  Sometimes he wonders if he knows more about Tsuzuki than the man would be comfortable with him knowing

            "What?"  Tsuzuki looks up as the ofuda folds itself neatly into the form of a bird before winging off with silent flick of shining wings.  Inside, on a spiritual level, Oriya can hear its shriek as it climbs into the empty darkness.  "You're Muraki's friend."  It's almost as much an accusation as a statement of fact.

            "Yes, that's me."  Oriya watches Tsuzuki curiously.

            "He told me about you," Tsuzuki says, watching the bird disappear, that sudden burst of anger forgotten in a bright dot that merges into the pinprick of stars in the vast expanse of sky.  "He said you gave him the keycard.  Even though he had barely drawn blood."

            "I did.  But the boy was stronger."  Oriya watches the night sky too, also waiting for that message to appear from the heavens.

            A few minutes pass as they stand, watching the slow turn of the stars.  Tsuzuki looks anxious, as if he too would fly off after the shikigami, following it in its quest, but he's grounded by responsibility, by the knowledge that he can't continue without assistance.  His hands move as if he can somehow urge the shiki to fly faster, to go farther.  

            "You'll find him," Oriya says evenly.

            "I know.  I always do.  Even when he doesn't want me to," Tsuzuki says, not realizing the contents of his words.

            "He wants you to," Oriya replies.  "Anyone would."

            "I guess." It's not a real answer, but Oriya knows well enough to let it alone.  Tsuzuki quickly turns his attention back to the shikigami's progress.  He's waiting.  Every second that passes, two a breath, three…four…and he watches the sky, hoping that he is wrong.  Hoping that it hadn't been a clean, untraceable teleport like he knows in his heart it was.  Praying that the ofuda he gave Saki earlier isn't somehow interfering with his ability to find Hisoka, and that there is something, some way of tracing his partner.  He can feel the shiki somewhere, lost and confused, looking around muddled tracks and traces, searching for Hisoka but not finding him.

            Tsuzuki's eyes close as tears trickle down.  He rubs at them angrily, irritated at the pain.  So close, yet so far and all that separates them are two pieces of paper, one calling to Hisoka, another hiding him, both created by his own hands.  The blood that never seems to wash off feels permanently affixed to his skin, a second skin of guilt and sin that clings to him no matter what he does.

            But for now, Tsuzuki knows that he has to believe that Hisoka is all right, because anything else means that the fragile world that Hisoka created for him from the ashes of black flames is just a little closer to collapse.

            Please.  Let him be safe.  

            Tsuzuki doesn't want to die again.

*******

Tatsumi           

            As they draw near, Tatsumi immediately sees the look of distress on Tsuzuki's face, a stray tear gleaming in the low light.  With a nod of his head, he gestures to Terazuma, who takes Muraki to go see to Oriya.

            "Tsuzuki-san!"  Wakaba is the first one at Tsuzuki's side.  "What happened?"  She pulls him aside, further into the moonlit garden so that they can talk without being heard.

            "It's all my fault."  Tsuzuki looks distraught.  "I gave him the ofuda."  

            "Tsuzuki-san, what are you talking about?"  Tatsumi asks, confused by the obvious hurt in Tsuzuki's eyes.  

            Tsuzuki looks shaken, pale and drawn.  "When we were sent to find Shidou Saki…we did find him.  And I gave him a protective ofuda to hide, because we didn't…I didn't want Muraki to kill him."

            "Tsuzuki-san."  Tatsumi says incredulously, too surprised to be angry.  "You're…"

            "I'm responsible."  Tsuzuki's voice quavers, but then, gains strength.  "But I'll find him.  And bring Hisoka back"

            "He took Hisoka?"  Wakaba looks surprised.

            Tsuzuki nods miserably.  "Something happened between the time I saw Saki and tonight.  He's different.  When I saw him earlier, he was completely normal.  Neither of us could sense anything from him – he was just a normal person.  Hisoka said there was something he was hiding, but he also says that everyone has something to hide that they don't want other people to know…"

            Tatsumi listens, nodding.  "Perhaps Kurosaki-kun let his own hatred of Muraki blind him into not delving more deeply into Saki's motivations."

            "Maybe."  Tsuzuki thinks about that.  "Can't you track him by his shadow, Tatsumi?"

            Tatsumi nods, feeling for the tracers he's put on various people.  Watari's in his office.  Tsuzuki stands before him.  Muraki's in the building ten feet away.  And Hisoka…

            "I don't know," Tatsumi says, shaking his head.  "Something's blocking me."  Tatsumi looks concerned.   "It's not your spell – that shouldn't have any effect because the shadows follow an entirely different principle…"

            "Oy."  Terazuma's voice rings out into the garden.  "Got something that might help."  

            Tatsumi walks closer to the building to see what Terazuma has.  "What's that?"

            "Blood."  Terazuma says, dangling a small plastic evidence bag with a folded square of blood-soaked cloth inside.  "Muraki says we should get this back to Meifu and to the lab while it's fresh."

            Tatsumi gives a quick nod of approval, leaving Tsuzuki to Wakaba.  "Terazuma-san, after we interview the witnesses, I am going to ask a favor of you."

            Terazuma can only nod dully as Tatsumi gives him instructions.  He's not liking what he's hearing.

*******

Terazuma 

            Suddenly, Terazuma's house is a lot busier.

            Just for tonight, Terazuma thinks to himself.  Because Tatsumi thinks its best to keep them under protective custody until the case is over, in case Saki decides to return for either one of them.  There was a quick debriefing at Kokakurou where they questioned Sakaki and Oriya, and now they're coming to his house. 

            He can't help but wonder why it is that in the last few days his house in particular seems to harbor stray Shinigami and humans alike.  Perhaps, he thinks, it's a sign that he and Kannuki should adopt a pet, preferably one with four legs and no penchant for murder and molestation.

            Of course, Wakaba thinks this is incredibly fun.   

            "Welcome, welcome!"  Wakaba says, gesturing for Oriya and Sakaki to follow as they enter their house.  "Isn't this exciting, Hajime?"

            "Peachy keen," Terazuma looks beat.  It's been a very long day and now it's more than a little past the right-hand side of midnight.  "Bed, all of you."

            Oriya raises an eyebrow at Terazuma's order, but says nothing, instead playing the gracious guest.  "Thank you for your hospitality, Terazuma-san."  

            "Eh, don't worry about it."  Terazuma says, feeling out of sorts with this houseguest who for all he knows is as crazy and dangerous as his own pet psycho, even if Oriya seems to match a large housecat in character.  "Better catch Sakaki, he looks like he's about to fall asleep on his feet."

            Oriya reaches out and steadies Sakaki, catching him by his shoulder.  "Sakaki-kun, just a few more minutes." 

            Sakaki nods blearily, more than half-asleep even though he's still standing.  "Sensei's dead."  

            "Yes he is.  But he's also at the lab tonight," Oriya says patiently, following Terazuma, steering Sakaki down the hall to the downstairs bedroom.

            "I don't understand," Sakaki says muzzily.  

            Oriya gently helps Sakaki out of his coat and shoes, putting him to bed.  "Go to sleep, Sakaki."  

            "Mmm."  But Sakaki's already most of the way there, curled up under the covers of the downstairs room.  "Smells like Sensei."  

            At that, Oriya had nothing to say.  

            "Here."  Terazuma brings in some large folded futons.  He gives a glance at Sakaki, who is sound asleep, but lowers his voice.  "Got some bedding for you, if you don't mind sleeping on the floor.  We'll set something up for the kid too, so he can sleep when he gets in." 

            "Kid?"  Oriya sounds amused.

            "Oh, sorry.  Muraki.  I meant Muraki," Terazuma says.  "Sometimes I call him the kid, since he's the newest one here.  Even Kurosaki's got seniority on him."

            "I see."  Oriya gives a little smile.  "I can just imagine what his senpais want him to do."

            Terazuma gives Oriya a calculating look.   "You were his friend, right?"

            "I am."  For Oriya, the past tense is not quite accurate yet.

            "What would you have wanted him to do?"

            Oriya gives it some thought as he quietly unfolds the futons.  One to the right and one to the left with some space in between, enough for a person to walk through without disturbing anyone.

            Terazuma grins.  "Let me guess.  'Stop being a jerk and start acting like a human being?'"

            "That might work if he was a human being to begin with," Oriya says curtly.  "Again, thank you for hosting us.  I am indebted to your kindness."

            "I…" Seeing Oriya's expression, Terazuma decides not to press the issue.  "Well, good night, then.  Bathroom's down the hall.  If you want water, it's in the kitchen.  I'm sure we'll sort everything out in the morning."

            "Thank you."  Oriya kneels down beside the makeshift bed, folding the covers back.  Terazuma closes the door.

*******

Tatsumi 

            First things first.

            One.  Make certain that division six makes it their destination safely, with their respective human charges.

            Two.  Have Tsuzuki create a kekkai barrier to protect the inhabitants.

            Three.  Take Muraki to Summons Division's forensic laboratory, and leave him to Watari's care to investigate the mystery of Saki's blood.  

            Four.  Return to Chijou.  Continue investigation.

            Five.  Is there a five?

            Tok.  Tok.  Tok.  The rhythmic tapping of the bamboo font.  Above, the waxing moon is nearly full, casting its pale light upon the garden at Kokakurou.  It's dark, the master's gone, and there's an odd emptiness to it that Tatsumi hadn't noticed before.  As if everything has paused, just for a little, while Oriya is away.

            Above, a sakura tree's petals dance in the wind, a few dropping off to worry at Tatsumi's hair as the night wind picks up.  It's out of season, but then, it's always out of season.  The unnaturalness of it is striking; Tatsumi remembers when he first saw it a year ago in the light of the crimson moon.

            "Tsuzuki-san."  Tatsumi beckons Tsuzuki over.  Tsuzuki is distracted and upset, but Tatsumi knows that even now he can be reliable.  

            "Tatsumi."  The way Tsuzuki says that, with that mix of breathlessness and yearning, leaves Tatsumi off-balance, longing to take him into his arms.

            But there's work to be done.

            "Tsuzuki-san, please cast the grid barrier," he says coolly, ignoring the warring desires playing out in his head.  It's always business first.  

            Tsuzuki's brows crease in a moment of frustration, as if he does not want to do this but knows that Tatsumi is right.  "Okay."

            Tsuzuki pulls out a blank ofuda, one of the cache of unmarked spell papers that he keeps for occasions such as this when he casts spells that are outside of the normal flow of kekkai and protective spells.  It's a little rumpled from living in his coat, but still more than serviceable.

            Tsuzuki makes a little gesture and the paper seems to straighten, holding itself in position at a sloping forty-five degree angle directly before him.  It's primed.

            He half-closes his eyes and before him the words of the spell as he sees it in his mind begin appearing on the paper, perfect chased lines of grass-flowing text.  He never needs to retrace or rewrite – of all the disciplines that others may complain that Tsuzuki lacks, his calligraphic hand is brilliant, with a spare aesthetic and precision that nearly brings Tatsumi to tears with its beauty.

            But then, the tears may be for something else. 

            Tatsumi watches, his throat feeling as though it's closed in upon itself from some unspoken – no, unspeakable – emotion.  It hurts him to see this, to see Tsuzuki so poised and serious.  This is the Tsuzuki that he lo…cares for, just as much as the one that appears in the office with the little dab of whipped cream on his nose and a smile upon his lips.

            Tsuzuki grasps the completed ofuda with a quick sweep of his hand, his mind centered.  It slides between his fingertips and he pauses for just the smallest fraction of a second before casting it out like a glowing band of power.

            It spreads, covering the entire garden and the nearby building until it's a shining net of pure power that even Tatsumi can see.  Tsuzuki makes a half-turn with his hand, and the net flexes under his control, turning into a perfectly marked grid of three feet square that settles half an inch above the ground.  

            Tsuzuki drops his hand and turns to Tatsumi, a half-apologetic look on his face.  "Do you think it's all right?  I could re-cast it.  There's a few lines that aren't perfectly straight," he points.  "That one's sort of wiggly and I think this one…"

            "No need, Tsuzuki-san.  It's just right."  Tatsumi smiles. At times like these, he almost forgets why he ever let Tsuzuki go.

            "Let's start looking, then," Tsuzuki says.  Softly, he intones a word, and parts of the limned grid begin glowing a different color.  "That's the path of energy Saki created."  Another word.  "Hisoka's signature."

            The lines of residual energy leave muddled paths along Tsuzuki's grid, crossing and breaking, blurry with movement.

            "Saki's blood.  Me.  The secretary," Tsuzuki begins breaking down each individual that has been here in the last hour, setting a different color for each.  "Oriya?"  

            "Prior investigations after…well, a previous investigation brought up that Muraki's friend has at least some amount of trace spiritual powers."

            "Oh.  That explains it."  Tsuzuki nods as he's caught up in his work.  "Terazuma.  Wakaba.  Muraki.  You."

            That last word, it's got a different feel to it, grounded with a tremble of emotion.

            "Please continue, Tsuzuki-san."  Tatsumi says it, but he doesn't feel it.

            Tsuzuki's voice comes unsteady but professional.  "About two hours ago…"

*******

Watari 

            One of the best parts about 003 is her ability to fit into tiny spaces.  

            Watari looks up from the front step of the apartment complex, a little grin on his lips, while 003 flaps up to an open casement window above the main entry door before slipping inside through a tiny crack.  A half-minute later, and the door opens.

            "Couldn't you just teleport?"  Muraki asks Watari as he follows him into the building.  

            "Shh.  I'm not very good at it."  Watari winks.

            Muraki wonders if this is a joke.

            An hour, a minor burglary, and a few cups of coffee later, Watari and Muraki have comparative DNA samples of Muraki, Tsuzuki, and Saki (both before and after this disastrous evening).  As 003 flits about the office chasing moths with gleeful abandon, the two look at the data arranged in haphazard piles of printouts and along three computer monitors, including Watari's laptop.

            They've been running tests now for some time, the office printer spitting out sheet after sheet of cross-referenced data.  

            "Saki did manage to do pretty well for what he had," Watari says, looking at the information on the computer screen closest to him.  He seems impressed.  Muraki is less than pleased.  "It looks like he snipped out key bits of DNA here, here, here, and…here from both you and Tsuzuki."  Watari taps on the screens at various locations along the three monitors.  "But there are some serious problems."

            "All right."  Muraki listens.

            "We know Saki was trying to create the immortal cell and something went wrong.  That's what that weird thing was that attacked Oriya and Sakaki earlier tonight." Watari sits back in his chair, nudging back a stray lock of blonde hair. "But why?"

            "Perhaps it was a faulty sample?" Muraki suggests.

            "That's right."  Watari nods, tapping the stack of printouts of Tsuzuki's DNA profile.  "If he had used DNA from Tsuzuki's actual body from before Tsuzuki died, there's a chance that Saki's experiment would have worked.  But what Saki used isn't from Tsuzuki's original body – they're samples of Shinigami cells.  It's close, but not close enough because there are fundamental errors built into us Shinigami."

            "Shinigami are unclonable."  Muraki notes.  

            "It's a real shame.  I've tried."  Watari looks almost wistful.

            At that Muraki quirks an eyebrow, but Watari continues, getting back on track.

            "So!"  Watari waggles his index finger.  "I think Saki tried to make an intelligent guess based on what he did have, hoping that it would correct for the sections he was missing.  But when he cloned those Shinigami sequences, he wasn't cloning anything of value."

            "Yet Saki did manage this particular section, Watari-san, which is a key reference sequence to Tsuzuki's heritage."

            "Of course.  It's the most obvious, so it's easiest to notice.  You've got a similar sequence.  In fact, they're almost exactly the same."  Watari looks at Muraki as if assessing his reaction.

            "What do you mean?"  Muraki's eyes narrow dangerously.

            "You know what I mean.  You told Tsuzuki yourself."  Watari says softly.  "Oni's blood.  Non-human ancestry."

            At that, Muraki shrugs, saying nothing.  He picks up his mug of coffee and tilts it toward him, but it's empty, so he sets it back down.

            Watari gives Muraki a skeptical look, but continues in his analysis.  "Now, there's one other really important mistake that Saki made when he was cloning DNA and sticking the mixed up results into hollowed-out viruses for his project."

            "What's that?"

            Watari shuffles a stack of papers and drags out the right printout.  "If you look at this specific sequence…" Watari points, tapping the papers with a pencil he's fished off his desk.  "See the gene marker here?"  Watari circles it.  "Tsuzuki has this naturally, but with a key complimentary component.  So do you.  Saki copied the same sequence from you, even though he doesn't have it, probably because he guessed that it had something important to do with the immortal cell."

            Muraki looks at the printouts.  "But he didn't copy the necessary complimentary component, did he?"

            "I think he must have overlooked it," Watari replies.

            "Without it, it creates an instability."  Muraki looks through the papers, a dark, desperate intensity tainting his voice.

            "Exactly!"  Watari beams, his eyes gleaming with excitement.  His voice startles Muraki out of his fervor.  "Now what do you think of that?"

            Muraki looks at the paperwork coolly, sorting the problem through his head.  "It's an opening.  A weakness of some sort."

            "Absolutely right!"  Watari jumps up out of his chair, brandishing the notes in his hand.  003 flutters over his head in a little mid-air owl dance of victory.  "Overall, Saki hasn't actually changed.  What's happened is that Saki's opened up a genetic weakness in himself, copied from you and Tsuzuki-san.  It isn't a problem with the two of you, because you each have the right half of the genes that protects you from what's happened to him." Watari points at the screen, tapping it fervently.

            "What does this mean, Watari-san?"

            "It means," Watari says, tilting his head so that the overhead florescent light glints off his glasses, "that we aren't dealing with a genetic monster.  We're dealing with a case of minor possession."

*******

Oriya 

            An hour later, perhaps more, and yet Oriya still cannot sleep.  

            The world of Meifu is a mirror of the real world and, like a mirror image, does not have the same sense of reality to it.  The quiet here is overwhelming.  Even with the soft sound of Sakaki's breathing in the background and the reassuring hum of his life, Meifu itself is too quiet, without the silent murmur of life that Oriya's other senses are accustomed to feeling.  This is a silence that is uncanny; even plants do not give off the same sense of life that they should, only gray shadows and wispy traces like death and rot.

            Oriya shivers beneath the covers, turning restlessly, unable to find a comfortable position.  It truly is the world of the dead.  The world of Meifu makes him think of the first time he saw a corpse, a breathless husk of flesh, unmoving and silent.

            It seems lonelier as the seconds tick by, thinking about this world that is bereft of life.  It's worse in the darkness.

            "Nn…"  Sakaki's voice.  Oriya is startled into awareness as the sound breaks the silence.  He suddenly realizes he had somehow dozed off for a few minutes.

            The rustle of covers.  Sakaki is having a nightmare.  

            Oriya sighs.  He sits up, pushing the bedding aside, grateful for the distraction that keeps him from the little death of sleep.

            Oriya stands, moving to turn on a small desk lamp that he had seen earlier, fumbling in the darkness for it before casting the room in the soft glow of light.  Sakaki is half-tangled in the bed sheets, shaking his head in negation.  Oriya makes his way over to the bed, half-drawn by the soothingly normal sensation of Sakaki's life force.

            The shift of the bed as Oriya sits down on the edge wakes Sakaki up gasping, his eyes blinking open.  Sakaki's hands catch Oriya's arm blindly, still caught in his dream.

            "Oriya-san?"  Sakaki comes to himself as he wakes up more fully, and lets Oriya go, his hand reaching up to rub at his eyes, short black hair tousled about his head.  "What's going on?"

            "You were having a nightmare, Sakaki-kun."  Oriya feels the fading imprint of Sakaki's fingers on him.  For a brief moment, they were desperately clutching him.

            "A nightmare."  Sakaki presses the heels of his hands against his closed eyelids.  "I-I can't seem to remember what it was about."

            "Mmm."  Oriya thinks of his own dreams.  The recurring nightmare where Muraki's cold hands clasp his own, the light of a thousand tiny flames glinting off his cold gray eye.  The keycard.  Oriya takes a breath, drawn slow and sure, and it dissipates as he exhales.

             Sakaki sits up, his shirt rumpled from sleeping in it.  He looks wide awake.  Hints of red marks mar his wrists, and for a brief moment Oriya wonders just exactly what Saki's been doing to him.

            Then Oriya remembers something else.

            "Sakaki.  Last year I called you, just after Muraki had disappeared.  What you told me wasn't exactly the truth, was it?"  Oriya looks at Sakaki levelly.

            "Last year?"  Sakaki's expression hasn't changed in the slightest.

            "I asked you if you knew where Muraki was.  You told me you hadn't heard from him since he left for Kyoto."

            Sakaki nods.  "And?"

            "And yet, all last year he was in Tokyo, wasn't he?"

            Sakaki's shoulders slump, and he looks dejectedly at the bedspread.  "Now that he's dead…there's no point in pretending anymore, is there?"  He sighs.  "I was asked – no – he ordered me not to tell you."

            "What was his reasoning?"  Oriya settles against the bed casually, effectively trapping Sakaki.

            Sakaki looks at Oriya nervously.  "He said it was the last thing he'd ever ask of me."

            "Go on."

            Sakaki looks uncomfortable.  "That night…he came back covered in blood.  It was really late - I had gone out that evening with some of the office staff, but stopped by the house on my way home to put the mail away."  There is an uncomfortable silence, as Sakaki struggles with the words.  "H-he made me promise him…promise that I wouldn't take him to the hospital or call for an ambulance, no matter what happened to him.  Then he called the director of the hospital and left a message saying that he quit and went to sleep."

            Oriya nods.  "Let me guess.  He wouldn't let you help him."

            "No."  Sakaki's voice trembles.  "There was blood all over for days.  All over Sensei, that is.  He looked like a corpse underneath all that dried blood.  I don't know how he managed not to die, because he could barely get up to move around.  I couldn't even make him drink water."

            "It's just like him to do that," Oriya says darkly.  His expression is shadowed with hints of anger.

            "Then, one day, he seemed better.  He managed to clean himself up and asked me to sit with him.  He told me that he didn't care what I did with the accounting as long as there was enough for his general upkeep."

            "He wanted you to steal from him?"  Oriya sounds incredulous.

            Sakaki nods.  "I've always known all his banking affairs and he said he wouldn't change it.  But I told him I wouldn't do it.  He made me promise that I wouldn't tell you anything.  Then he asked me to leave him so he could think.  By the time I came back, the house had been locked up and he was gone.  He left everything behind.  Even the dolls.  The only thing he took was the cat.  After that, I didn't know what to do."

            "You could have called me."

            "I made a promise, Oriya-san."  Sakaki looks anguished.  "It wasn't something that I wanted to do!  Abandoning him was one of the hardest…"  Sakaki shakes his head, his fingers clutching the bedspread, knuckles white with tension.  

            "Tell me, Sakaki-kun."  

            "It was wrong," Sakaki whispers, a tear trickling down his cheek.  "But I knew he was alive, because when I went back to work the next morning, he called while I was there and asked the director to hire me as a junior administrator."   

            "His best recommendations, I'm sure."  Oriya's voice is tainted with sarcasm.

            "After that…I was too busy to worry so much."  Sakaki is guilt-stricken, reliving the memories.  "It was the first…first time in a long time that I felt good about my job.  There were always…certain things.  That I didn't like.  Or that seemed wrong, but I felt that I had to do for him, because he had no one else."

            "He has a way of getting people to do what he wants them to."

            "I just…didn't know.  I should have wondered, but I never thought to question it.  I trusted him.  But then, he shut me out and never let me back in…"

            Oriya rests his hand on Sakaki's shoulder comfortingly.  "You did what you could.  Muraki decided on his path long before any of us came into his life."

            "Did he?"  Sakaki clasps Oriya's wrist loosely, staring into Oriya's dark eyes. "I…I guess I was naïve to think that maybe I could help him."

            "You weren't, Sakaki-kun.  Anytime, he could have turned away from his path.  He always had that choice."

            "But why did he…why didn't he just…stop what he was doing?  Why did he have to take it so far?  Why did he die?"

            "No one knows, Sakaki-kun.  I don't think he knows himself."  Oriya's other hand comes up and he brushes a stray tear from Sakaki's cheek.  "I'm sorry.  I've made you cry."

            A hint of a blush creeps along Sakaki's face.  "Ah, it's all right!  I mean, I-it's nothing, really."  Sakaki goes to wipe his face with his sleeve, taking a shaky breath as he does so.

            A hint of a smile brushes along Oriya's lips.  He's about to say more, but there's something, a sensation – the touch of a life-force that burns like a wisp of white flame in the dark.  Muraki is close.  Oriya ruffles Sakaki's tousled hair in a spontaneous show of affection.  "For now, you should rest.  We'll speak of this later."  He stands up, straightening his clothes as he does so.  Sakaki nods, watching him go.

            Oriya leaves, closing the door behind him.

*******

Tatsumi 

            "Tsuzuki.  That's enough."  A few grueling hours of piecing together the clues at the scene had left them nothing particularly useful except for a clearer glimpse of Saki's energy signature, a faint trace of blurry silver-black that stumbled from one point to the next until it broke off like the snap of a green branch.

            "Tatsumi?"  Tsuzuki looks over at Tatsumi as if he doesn't quite understand what Tatsumi is saying.

            Tatsumi rests his hand on Tsuzuki's shoulder gently.  "I said it's enough for now.  I'll take you back to Meifu.  The rest can wait until morning."

            "All right."  Tsuzuki looks at the ground blankly and gestures, a slow flex of his hand as if releasing the spell.  The shining pattern of energy disperses into flecks of power that dissipate into the night. 

            Tatsumi steps forward and rests his hand on Tsuzuki's shoulder.  He draws his shadows around the two of them, cloaking them from sight.  Like the spell, they too fade away, disappearing into the darkness.

            A moment later, they're in Tatsumi's house in Meifu.  As Tatsumi walks over to turn on the light, Tsuzuki looks around the room.  It's the same as he remembers it from the past; everything neatly where it belongs, the slipcover on the couch (it's blue now; it used to be green with pale yellow stripes, if his memory was correct) tautly straightened as if Tatsumi makes certain it's aligned correctly after each sitting.

            "Would you care for a drink, Tsuzuki-san?  Something to eat?  I have a little leftover cake…" Tatsumi turns to glance over at Tsuzuki.

            "We always came here first after missions, didn't we?"  Tsuzuki says, staring at Tatsumi's bookcase.  On the shelf, a little above eye level, is a picture of the two, taken from when they first began their partnership so many decades ago.  It's black and white; Tsuzuki's arm is draped over a fussy-looking Tatsumi, tie askew and collar undone, as Tatsumi is trying to keep from laughing, his glasses slipping down over his nose.  The picture was an accident - Tatsumi had meant to throw it out because it wasn't the sort of formal picture that he had wanted.   Tsuzuki, however, had insisted that Tatsumi keep it, even buying him a frame.  (It was Tsuzuki's first real paycheck as a full-fledged Shinigami.  Afterwards, they had bought saké together and gotten terribly drunk.)

            Tatsumi nods.  "It's easier for me to return to somewhere of my own, when I use the shadow dimension to take us back to Meifu."

            "That's what you always said.  And then, you'd make tea." 

            "And you'd say you were hungry, and rummage through my cupboards to look for food." 

            "You'd scold me for spilling things or trying to cook in your kitchen."

            "But after a while, I learned to buy a little cake or something sweet for you to eat so you didn't set my apartment on fire."  Tatsumi crosses his arms, watching Tsuzuki with the beginnings of a little smile

            "And then you started hiding the dessert as a joke, so I still had to look through all your cupboards to find it," Tsuzuki replies, his expression softening with memory

            "Until you broke my bottle of cooking wine."  Tatsumi smiles.  "I remember."

            "It was a long time ago, wasn't it?"  Tsuzuki says simply.  "A lot has changed since then."

            A little twinge of pain passes through Tatsumi's expression, but he hides it in a quick gesture, his hand moving to nudge his glasses up his nose, pretending that the little moment of emotion didn't exist.

            "I never meant to hurt you, Tatsumi," Tsuzuki begins.

            "No, it's all right, Tsuzuki-san.  Don't think more of it."  Tatsumi's shoulders stiffen, but he looks up at Tsuzuki, his expression calm.  "I'm all right."  

            "I don't mean just the past."  Tsuzuki stands with his head bowed.  "I mean when I said those things…about you abandoning me…"  

            For a moment, Tatsumi looks a little confused, as if he genuinely doesn't remember, but then it comes back to him, that morning not so long ago when he asked Tsuzuki to be temporarily reassigned and Tsuzuki had said the unbearable.  

            _"I finally found a partner who will stay with me, no matter what, and I'm not going to abandon him."_

            "It…it's all right Tsuzuki-san.  It's been so long that I don't remember it at all," Tatsumi lies.   The shadow of a smile is upon his lips, but he cannot conceal the remembered pain in his clear blue eyes.

            "No, Tatsumi…it's not all right.  Even when we stopped being partners,"  Tsuzuki says.  "You never abandoned me."

            "Tsuzuki…"  Tatsumi trembles, ice clasping at his heart.  He feels as though he's run so many times from Tsuzuki, first when their partnership began growing closer in ways that he was afraid to explore, and then when Tsuzuki opened his arms to embrace the searing black flames of Touda. 

            He hadn't even tried to stop Tsuzuki.

            Tsuzuki walks over, drawing Tatsumi to sit down with him on the couch.  They crease the straightened slipcover; perhaps in another context, Tatsumi might playfully scold him for it and Tsuzuki might tease him about that, but now isn't the time.  "I…you don't…"  His hand touches Tsuzuki's elbow.  Tatsumi shakes his head, trying to dislodge the pain in his heart.  He takes a shuddery breath, calming himself.  "Tsuzuki-san, you don't have to do this.  You have other things to worry about."

            "I want to, Tatsumi."  Tsuzuki's voice is husky with emotion.  His violet eyes meet Tatsumi's.  "I was wrong, because you've never left me.  You're always where I need you most."

            "But I couldn't…I didn't go through the flames to get you myself," Tatsumi says softly.  "I was afraid."

            Tsuzuki smiles, a faint curve of his lips.  "You weren't afraid.  That's just an excuse that you're trying to convince yourself with.  The only reason you didn't come after me was because you know me better than Hisoka does, and because you knew what was in my heart, what my true feelings were.  I wanted to die that night, Tatsumi.  But…"

            "But he gave you a reason to stay."  Tatsumi looks away, gaze averted.  The unspoken sentiment – it was a reason that Tatsumi could not provide.

            "Lucky ignorance," Tsuzuki replies, a gentle look in his eyes.  Tsuzuki's voice draws Tatsumi's gaze back, and meets it.  "He didn't know me well enough to leave me alone."

            "Do you regret it?"  Tatsumi asks.

            "Sometimes," Tsuzuki answers.  A pause.  "Like right now.  But it passes, and I'm all right again."

            There's an awkward silence.  Tsuzuki touches Tatsumi's hand.  They look at each other for a moment.

            "Really, Tsuzuki-san," Tatsumi teases Tsuzuki gently.  "Have you ever been all right?" 

            "Once, but Watari said it was an anomaly."  Tsuzuki winks.  "Now can I have some cake?"

            "Of course.  But not on the couch."

            "I know."  Tsuzuki eyes stay on Tatsumi's as he draws Tatsumi up along with him.

*******

Muraki 

            I find it amusing that Watari makes sure to walk me back to Terazuma's house after we're done, as if at any second I'd run off from here and hunt Saki down myself.

            It's a wise choice on his part.  Very responsible.  A shame, really.

            We walk through the dark; Watari's owl is hitching a ride in his flowing blonde mane, occasionally flapping its wings to right itself when he makes a particularly emphatic nod of his head to punctuate a point.  At one point it flapped off his head irritably and landed on mine.

            The look of surprise on Watari's face was enough to make me laugh, dislodging the grumpy owl and sending it winging off to a nearby tree.  Watari spent a few minutes trying to talk 003 down, apologizing profusely.

            Oddly, the entire situation was relaxing in its own way.  My jaw ached; I didn't realize that I had been clenching it for the last few hours.

            Watari waves sunnily as he leaves me at Terazuma's house.  He yawns profoundly, but waits for me to go inside and lock the door behind me before he leaves.  Fortunately I had been given a key; otherwise I would have had to wake someone up.

            Still, had the door been unlocked, any trespasser would have had significant difficulty making their way past the hulking specter of a fifty-foot fire-breathing Shikigami.  Now that I think of it, perhaps that is why they lock the door, to minimize property damage.

            I make my way down the hall toward the downstairs room but before I near it, the door opens and Oriya slips out silently, shutting the door behind him.

            In the dim and uncertain light, we stare at each other.

            For a moment, I don't know what to do.  

            Without saying a word, I nod my head, gesturing toward the back door.  I go, he follows, and a half-minute later we're outside in the back yard.

            He sighs.  It's a wisp of fog in the air, his breath.

            Between the hours of one and three in the morning is the coldest time of the night.  In the land beyond the world of the living, the stars are particularly bright.

            "Muraki."  As he moves, the indigo pattern of his yukata is lost to darkness.  The only reason I know it's indigo is from memory.  His back is to me; his head half-turned to look at the waxing moon as it trembles along the horizon of the night.

            "Oriya."  

            "I didn't want you to die."  Such simple words, a bare confession.  His dark hair slips past his shoulder, unveiling the pale skin of his neck.  The muscles of his throat work as if he has more to say, but for now, he wants an answer.

            "It wasn't anything you could have done," I say.  "In some ways, the decision was outside of my hands."

            At that, he spins around, and in an angry flurry of motion, grabs me by the shoulders, nearly knocking me to the ground in his wrath.  We end up on the flat concrete just outside the house; I wince at the sudden pain as my elbows hit the ground hard.  

            "Nothing you ever do is outside of your own control, Muraki," Oriya's voice hisses quietly beneath his breath – he doesn't want to wake anyone up.  "Why did you do this?"

            I smile roguishly.  I can't help myself.  It's too dark to see what his expressions are; the moon's behind him now, but I can imagine his eyes flashing with anger.

            "I was born to die, Oriya.  At least, if there was nothing else I could control, I could at least choose that."

            At that, he lets me go, sitting up against the cold concrete, legs folded underneath him.  I can imagine his aches; he probably hurt his knees knocking me over.  I sit up.  The pain of my injuries fades quickly, the healing capacity smoothing over broken skin and bruised flesh.

            "Were you disappointed, Muraki?"  The voice is soft, the words gentle.

            "Disappointed?"  I genuinely don't know what he's asking.

            "I didn't go after you."  In another time, another place, he would reach for that pipe of his and smoke in contemplation.  For now, his palms rest against the rough surface of the concrete as if he could somehow draw strength from it.

            "No.  I didn't expect you to."

            "But you gave me the keycards.  I could have stopped you myself."  It's all true, really.  He's very perceptive.

            "Yes, that's right."

            "But I didn't."  He sighs.  

            "No."

            "Would you have wanted me to?"  Somehow I think that for the entirety of the year previous, this question has plagued him. 

            "I don't know, Oriya."

            There's a long silence, as we sit.  The wind picks up, and he shivers.  Such a strong man, but at the same time fragile in his own peculiar way.  Meifu must be terrible on his senses.

            "All that…"  My voice comes even before I think it should.  "It seems so far away now, Oriya.  It's as though from the moment I stepped into that laboratory I've been through flames and the process burnt something out of me.  Perhaps it was all just a dream."

            I look up; the moon shines cold and white and dead.  Like me.

            "I knew you weren't dead, Muraki.  But you were also not alive."

            "I just stopped, Oriya.  I was too tired.  I couldn't continue like that anymore.  And so I left."  A half-smile, I bow my head, covering the trembling of tears in my eyes.  Tears.  How silly.  My hand moves to touch my closed eyes, slipping underneath the cool metal of my glasses.  There, the moisture.  Ah, such sentimentality.

            "You left me, and you left Sakaki."  It's not a direct accusation, but it's there nonetheless.  "And what about Ukyou?"

            I laugh, a broken weak sound.  "Ukyou?"

            "She doesn't know."

            "Even if she did, what then?  It's not as though she'd understand it or acknowledge it.  She only looked confused when she was told her own mother was dead."

            "Perhaps one day she'll be better again."

            "And perhaps one day I'll be truly dead."

            "Muraki!"  I can tell he wants to shout at me, tell me all the things he's been thinking about over this last year, the plausible scenarios in his mind as to where I was, the anger and frustration as he wondered if I was dead or not.  And I'll let him.  

            But he gets a hold of himself before then.

            "Is that what you want?  To be truly dead?"  Oriya looks tired.  He turns; the light's touching his face, that icy moonlight, and I can see the shadows beneath his eyes, the tiny lines of worry crinkling at his eyes, at the corners of his mouth.  

            He's aging.  One day, he'll die.

            "No."  I move over toward him.  We're very close now.  I can almost touch him.

            "Then what do you want?"  Oriya's face is a study in misery, his voice trembles from emotion.

            "I don't know."  It's true, every word of it.  I just don't.

            "I didn't want you to die."  The words are a harsh whisper of pain.  Oriya's hand goes to cover his face.  

            "I know."  My arms go around him.

            It's just a hug, really.  I think he needs it.

            He doesn't refuse.

*******

Tatsumi 

            Such warmth.  For the first time in a long time (and how long has it been exactly?  To count the decades or hours or days he'd need an abacus and a calendar to follow the progression).  

            Tatsumi shifts gently, his glasses carefully set aside somewhere else so that his face for once is bared, seemingly more vulnerable.  Even in his sleep he's still careful not to disturb Tsuzuki.  Earlier, they had cake; there was tea.  For the two of them until three.  It was a pause in the tension, the night wearing on slowly around them, silent but for the rustle of the trees and the creak of the building as it settles.

            He had made Tsuzuki sleep in his bed – Tsuzuki's mental state was too fragile to send him home.  The pain in those violet eyes stung; he promised Tsuzuki that as soon as they could, they would find and rescue Hisoka.  But for now, rest.  So he had offered Tsuzuki his bed.  Tsuzuki had asked him to stay.

            And here they are, sleeping, nothing else, two grown men fully dressed, curled up together under Tatsumi's blankets, trousered legs half-twined together.  A clock ticks nearby, counting the seconds as they slumber.

            Tsuzuki's breath is silent as he rests, Tatsumi's arms around him.

            Tsuzuki's stillness hides the fact that he's having a nightmare, that the flames are all around him and Hisoka's gone into them alone.  And now he can't find Hisoka anymore, no matter where he looks. 

            And that is how dawn finds them.

*******

Terazuma 

            Coffee.  Terazuma smells coffee.

            He thinks that it's a dream, but his sensitive ears pick up the distinct sound of someone moving in the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards quietly as if looking for cups.  There.  The distinct clink of porcelain.

            Someone's making coffee.

            Terazuma rolls over on the narrow sofa and pulls the pillow over his head.  He needs another ten minutes, at least.

            Sakaki is pouring coffee for Muraki and Oriya.  The two older men sit at the table looking tired, but otherwise quietly enjoy each other's company in silence as the gray morning light filters in through the windows.

*******

Hisoka 

            The sun.  It's rising.

            Please…someone…

            Please find me. 

            I'm lost…

To be continued…

**Disclaimer**: Yami no Matsuei belongs to Matsushita Yoko.  

**Thanks** in general to my prereaders, Aeanagwen, DanceswithElvis, Jekka, RubyD, and Rinoa.  Special thanks to Aeanagwen, who does all those and proofreads (she makes me make sense!), DanceswithElvis for her help on understanding DNA, RubyD for continuity/detail help, and Jekka for being my chapter 9 guinea pig.  Any errors, however, are my own fault.  :p

Also, thanks to Penny Paperbrain, Katsue Fox, Majinkarp, Wolfpilot06, Luxetumbra Zanzou, and everyone else for their general support.  I'm sure I'm missing a whole lot of people in this thanks, but I am very grateful to everyone for reading and following along this far.  Thank you!  

**Author's notes**: Chapter 9 has been one of the most difficult chapters to continue.  I had trouble deciding what to do with the story and where it should go, topped off with a lot of general paranoia about the overall quality.  A few sections caused a lot of trouble, but were rewritten, thanks in part to Jekka's input.  This chapter is mainly to tie up a bunch of various loose threads in the story.  

Chapter 10 is already on its way – I've already written some of it and have it outlined.  Don't worry – there's going to be definite resolution and it shouldn't take nearly so long for this next chapter.  ^_^

February 23, 2004 marks the one-year anniversary of the first chapter of the First Death.

Almost done!  One more chapter!  (And maybe a long epilogue?)

Chapter 10: The Shinigami move to capture Saki and rescue Hisoka.

Side story - Asato 

            Purple eyes.  

            The thin wail of a child sang with the wind, the sound torn to shreds as the storm raged outside.  It had been a week; he had never stopped crying.  The villagers gathered to discuss this, huddled in their wooden houses.  Though the modern world had come to Japan, it had not been an even distribution – there were still many places such as this, villages hidden deep in the mountains that had missed the new laws and the new ways.

            She was only fourteen and unmarried when it happened.  She went by herself to gather mushrooms out in the deep mountain forest.  When they found her, it seemed as though a wild beast had ravaged her.  She said she didn't remember it; half the family had believed her, the other half wanted her thrown out for fear of bringing a strange spiritual pollution to their people.  It was settled that the child's birth would solve the mystery.

            And then, it was a son.  And it had purple eyes.

            She died giving birth.  It was too strong for her, the midwife had said.  Too bad.

            They left him out in the snow on the mountain for a week in a sturdy basket with no blankets for warmth, but he lived, tears frozen to his cheeks, his body numb and blue.  The men who found him dug him out of three feet of snow, finding the woven coffin of rush, and his purple eyes turned up to the light as if in gratitude.  They wanted to bury him again after the ground had thawed, hoping that he would die for certain in the dark earth, but were stopped by one of the village elders.

            Eventually, they gave him away, praying that they had not offended one of the old gods of the land that roamed the hidden places.

            And so, to the nearest market town they took him, the boy sucking on his thumb, his violet eyes staring wide, coal black hair long to his shoulders, a beautiful child by any perspective.  He was growing fast; by the thaw he could walk by himself.  They kept him out in a storage shed where his strange eyes couldn't curse anyone.

            Halfway to the market town they stopped for the night in another little village, one that had sprung forth as a resting point a day's walk before the market town.  

            They tied him firmly to a tree to keep him from wandering away.  The posts were for valuable farm animals, not for one such as him.  He sat quietly, because he was afraid of being beaten.

            Ruka was fifteen at the time.  She had been widowed before she was even married.  Three times over her promised husbands had died in accidents or from illness.  It was bad luck.  No one wanted her anymore, because they were afraid that she was cursed.  A girl who couldn't be married was useless; she knew this much.

            But when she saw the little boy she knew that they had something in common.  She had heard them talk about his unnaturalness, the fact that he was cursed.  That the crop had failed the year he was born; that there had been signs from heaven that expressed displeasure.  The freeze had been especially hard that year.

            He was the child of the reed basket that had lived.  That's what they called him, Asato, like the early grave they had made for him, the one that he escaped.

            It was a good enough sign for her.

            So quietly, after the men had gone to bed, she untied the sleeping boy, picked him up, and walked away.

            She never looked back.

Note: The kanji for Asato means a flax or hemp container.


	10. The True Death, Part 6

The True Death, Part 6 

Summary: Morning comes, and the Shinigami move to rescue Hisoka.

Hisoka 

            Down the upstairs hallway to the right is the doll room.  Kazutaka's in there by himself.  I know because I saw her leave.  I think she must have broken something because I heard something slam against the floor earlier.  

            When I get to the door, I don't bother knocking.  I just go inside.  There's a lock on the door and I turn the latch, shutting us in.

            It's dark, but the light filters in from under the doorway and there are lights in the display cases that brighten the gloom.  There are no windows in here, but I don't feel like turning the light on.

            He's sitting in the deep shadow of one of the cases.  His pale hands are wound in the doll's fair hair.  There are shards of porcelain all around him on the ground where he's sitting.  I'm surprised he hasn't cut himself.

            He's trying not to cry, but I can tell he's hurt.

            It's not that she does anything to him that I can really prove.  I've never seen her hit him.  It's crossed my mind more than once to turn them all into the police just because of the strangeness, but I've learned that he'd never break her confidence.  The two of them, they're like cohorts, mutual companions in madness.  I might be just a kid, but I know that there is something with those two that is wrong.  But I don't understand it completely.    "Hey."  My black school uniform coat creases when I sit down on the floor with him.  I try to be careful not to cut myself on the shards.  "Want to talk about it?"

            "No."  His silver-pale hair catches the light in the dark room.  The faces of the dolls on the shelves around us float in the shadows like dozens of porcelain ghosts…****

Saki 

            The dolls sing so sweetly, Kazutaka.  Their voices are like the whispers of children filling the room with their mismatched babbling songs.  I know the doll room was always the place you liked the best.  No windows, only this door that leads inside from the long hallway.  It protects them from the sun and keeps them beautiful and pale, just like you. 

            Do you see this one?  She's still got the same taffeta dress and the bonnet that you liked. 

            Take her.  I know she's your favorite.  

            Oh, but you're sleeping now.  Little brother, you're so lovely.  I never told you this, did I?  I always thought you were like a doll yourself in a way.  Even when we had that fight and you knocked me over and said you hated me and you didn't want me to be your brother and I broke your arm…but that was an accident.

            Just an accident.  I didn't mean to hurt you. 

            Don't cry, Kazutaka.  She can't hurt you anymore.  Now she's dead.  You're just having a nightmare from the past.

            Now take the doll.

Tatsumi 

            Tatsumi wakes up just after dawn.  He realizes that Tsuzuki is nestled in his arms, sleeping, though not soundly, as a tear trickles down Tsuzuki's face.  It reminds him of that night in Kyoto a year ago - that voice, quivering with hurt and misery.

            Tsuzuki's pain is heartbreaking.  The way he's sleeping – on his side with his forehead pressed against Tatsumi's shoulder – reality melds with wavering memory.  A lifetime ago and Tsuzuki slept like a child strewn among toys and death, blood soaking into the floor – his own.

            "Wake up, Tsuzuki."  Tatsumi's voice is soft, but insistent.  He draws Tsuzuki closer into his arms, feeling the tremble of Tsuzuki's breath against his shirt.

            "Mmm…no…Hisoka…"  Another tear, and Tatsumi brushes it away carefully with his finger.  The touch stirs Tsuzuki into awareness.

            "Tsuzuki."  Tatsumi's voice is comforting.

            "It's my fault…it's all my fault."  Tsuzuki wakes up sobbing, the nightmare chasing him into the conscious world.  "Now…now I can't find him."  Tsuzuki's voice is broken with anguish.

            "It's all right.  We'll get Hisoka back.  I promise."  Tatsumi whispers, stroking Tsuzuki's hair comfortingly, realizing last night's calm was only a cover; Tsuzuki had wanted to hide his pain and what better way to do it than to submerge it in Tatsumi's own? 

            It's so very Tsuzuki.  Tatsumi closes his eyes and their embrace tightens for a moment.  So many memories of the past, of the two of them together like this.  It reminds him of their final case together as partners, where the strain of working in Tokyo had finally broken something important in Tsuzuki (his heart, Tatsumi remembers, it had broken his heart to send that child in the sleep of death, it couldn't be helped, it had to be done, just business as usual).  It was back then that they were staying at a shabby little hotel just outside of Tokyo – when he walked by that neighborhood a few days ago following Muraki he could almost remember the way that it smelled, the musky scent of mold and water damage even though the building had long since been demolished…

            Suddenly, it connects.   He knows what they must do.  Gently, he untangles himself from Tsuzuki's arms.

            "Tsuzuki-san."   Tatsumi's back to business.  He brushes a final tear from Tsuzuki's face, looking at him very seriously.  "I have an idea."

            Half an hour later, they're out hunting for Saki.

            Tatsumi has seen the files.  He knows there are certain addresses important to Saki's childhood.  If Saki's mind is seeing images from the past, as Sakaki and Oriya reported, then it's likely that Saki will gravitate toward the places that he was familiar with in when he was young.  

            The first, listed as a tiny apartment.  Since then, it's been razed and converted into a parking structure.  They find nothing there.

            The second, an orphanage.  It's been turned into a school; they wander the empty halls like tall morning shadows for a few minutes before deciding that it too is a dead end.

            Finally, a grand western-style house.  The doors are padlocked shut; the downstairs windows are boarded up haphazardly.  If it's not this place then Tatsumi will have to speak to the chief about contacting their American counterparts.

            Tatsumi looks to Tsuzuki, who nods as if to say 'go on.'  Tatsumi's hand flits over the lock and a shadow worms its way into the keyhole, tipping the tumblers open.  The lock releases and he opens the door.  It squeaks loudly from disuse.

            Tatsumi nods to Tsuzuki.  They move forward, closing the door behind them.

            Through the dusty air, the sunlight glints through the cracks in the boarded windows.  There's a whole assortment of furniture covered in sheets like the ghosts of dead possessions, left in a strange limbo awaiting the return of the master who will never come home.  But for the dust, it would have been immaculate.  There are pictures on the walls; Tatsumi has never seen Muraki so young – a child in short pants, a little boy with haunted gray eyes.

            There are little hints of personality here and there; a folded origami flower slipped into a clear blue-green crackleware vase mantled in dust, the original color of the paper lost to time.  A raven-haired doll whose curls are limned with gray as if old age is catching up to it; when Tatsumi's shadow slips by it gently, the dust floats off, wafting into the air, gently caught between a draft and a stray beam of light.

            The doll's cobalt blue eyes regard the Shinigami silently as the two pass by.

            Tatsumi lets his shadows do the work for him, feeling the sensations of the angles of the walls, shade cast along corners and doorways, looking for the rounded shadows and regular motion of breathing that would indicate human life. 

            But he doesn't find it here.  They'll have to go through the house.

            Room after room, they uncover more of Muraki's life outside of the world they knew – a kitchen, his old office, a guest room, storage closets.  They find the wing of the house that used to serve as a hospital – when Tsuzuki sees it, he has such a strong reaction that Tatsumi has to lead him gently away before memory seizes him firmly within its grip.

            Fortunately, Tsuzuki comes back to himself quickly.

            A few minutes is all that it takes and they rule out the bottom floor.

            Upstairs then.

            Tatsumi leads the way, shadows swirling in his wake as he ascends the stair, the wood creaking gently beneath his steps.  Tsuzuki follows, his violet eyes lost in thought, or merely lost.  The sun's light peeks into a window at the head of the stairs, illuminating the hallway.

            Tatsumi glances around and quickly sees what they've been looking for.  

            Cold white light pours out from a particular doorway.  The door's open.

            Tatsumi looks to Tsuzuki, who shrugs.  It's the wrong direction for the sun to be coming in from.

            Tatsumi lifts his finger up to his lips, a signal to Tsuzuki.  Then, without warning he disappears into a shadow.  

            A moment later he reappears on the other side of the doorway down the hall.  Tsuzuki moves quickly and noiselessly toward the entrance.

            They chance a glance.  

            Saki is surrounded by light layered in darkness so profound that it can't be described as shadow, the two melding like water meeting oil, barely held together in a roiling tumble.  Dolls are scattered everywhere, broken to fragments, porcelain creating a deranged shatter of eyes and lips, hands and limbs.

            Fresh blood glints off some of the shards, but it's impossible to tell whose it is.

            Tsuzuki's eyes grow wide with astonishment when he sees Hisoka, half-sprawled in Saki's arms as if he's a doll himself.

            Hisoka is staring straight at him.

            But he doesn't see them.

Hisoka 

            "Are you sure?"

            "Yes."  His fingers twist the doll's hair.  It has only the upper half of its face.  The rest has been broken off.  It's missing an eye.  I pick up a piece of the chin.  The break is clean and I run the edge of porcelain between my fingers absently, feeling how sharp it is.

            "You don't want me to be your brother, do you?"  We've been skirting this for weeks.  I can count the days I've been here.  I've been marking it off in my mind.  I hate this place so much that if I could, I'd burn it down with everyone still inside.

            He starts.  It's hard to see him, but I can hear the rustle of his clothes as he moves.  The black of the high school uniform (and we're dressed the same since we're in the same school and even the same classroom, though he avoids me at all costs when he can) blends into the darkness, leaving just his face, hair, and hands like a wisp of a spirit.

            "Not really," he confesses.  Finally, we're getting somewhere.  His voice has a hard edge to it.  He hates me.

            "Why?"

            He doesn't respond, but I know why he dislikes me.  It's because I'm an intruder in his world.  I make him feel unwelcome and unwanted.  Most of all, I make him feel like an outsider, as if he doesn't belong in the home that he's lived in all his life.  My existence means that he's no longer welcome.

            That man.  Our father.  He likes me better.  I'm the son that looks like him the most, with black hair and brown eyes like any other normal kid.  My mother was charming and polite, a sweet and demure woman.  She wasn't anything like the colorless monster that roams the rambling rooms of this big empty house.  She wasn't frighteningly beautiful, as alien as the moon.  She was just pretty.

            I miss her.  Sometimes, I miss her so badly I feel like I could die from the pain.

            "You hate me."  I stare at him, thinking.  You hate me, and I hate your family.  But oddly, I don't hate you.  But I resent you.  You've never known what it's like to really hurt.  You've never known what it's like to lose something important to you.     I'd like to share.

            "Mmm-hmm."  His eyelids flutter.  I can tell because of the reflection of the light off his gray eyes.  Perfectly gray eyes are rare among the Japanese.  But ones like his shouldn't exist.  They're almost silver and so pale that sometimes at night, they reflect light like a cat's.

            "Hey, Kazutaka."

            "Yes?"  His voice sounds suspicious.  Well, he should be.  I've got him locked in a dark room.  Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.  Ha ha.

            "I heard something interesting the other day."

            "Oh?"

            "I heard your father tell that professor friend of his that you're a failed experiment.  You know, you really shouldn't exist."

            He comes at me with both hands.  I laugh as they go around my throat.  He's pretty strong.  But I'm stronger.

Saki 

            You don't know me at all, little brother.  You don't know what I went through – you never understood me.  You never tried.  

I smiled all the time, but it was only because I had to hide the insides of myself from father, from everyone.  From you.  

            I never trusted your family.  I was always a stranger they were trying to draw in, just as you were a stranger among them that was trying to draw out.  

            There were days…so many days when I slept alone in that room they gave me.  I imagined you on the opposite side of the wall…we never had to share anything, did we?  Not rooms, not toys, not memories – no, the only thing we really shared was blood and even that was a tenuous link.

            Sometimes at night, I thought perhaps that you were on the other side of the wall from me, the covers over your head as I had mine over my head, waiting until morning as the creaks of her feet along the bare floorboards moved slowly up and down the downstairs hallway. 

            Brother, I wanted to tell you…

            Hmm.

            Now that was odd.  If I didn't know better, I would have said that the shadows in this room just moved.

Terazuma 

            So now everyone is in his house.  Even Tsuzuki and Tatsumi.  

            Terazuma nearly falls out of his makeshift bed (the couch) when Tatsumi sits down next to him to use the phone, startling him out of deep sleep.  

            "Good morning, Terazuma-san.  I know this is highly unusual, but we have an emergency on our hands," Tatsumi says smoothly, but not before Terazuma yelps and glares, bounding up from beneath the covers, the pillow flying out of his hands straight at Tatsumi's head.  This is immediately followed by a moment of extreme embarrassment as he realizes he's in his boxer shorts in front of what seems like half the department and a few random humans.  Stomping off, he manages to sneak in a quick change, some basic ablutions, and a surprisingly excellent cup of coffee (he needs the caffeine badly – he's tired from last night and still waking up).

            By the time he returns and drags over a chair to listen, they're already formulating a course of action and Wakaba is sitting down with Watari on the couch.  Watari has safety goggles on his head and is positioning a big case before him that looks like one of his crazy inventions.

            Terazuma twitches.  He is definitely going to get this reimbursed.

            The other Shinigami are all sitting around his living room; Muraki, Wakaba, and Watari on the couch, Tatsumi holding court from a straight-backed chair, Tsuzuki standing beside him, and the two humans watching from the nearby dining room table, listening in on the proceedings.

            "Now that everyone is here, we'll begin.  Earlier this morning, Tsuzuki-san and I scouted the location.  Watari?"  

            "Hot off the copier!"  Watari hands out photocopied floor plans.  When Muraki sees what's on the paper, he gives a violent start.  Wakaba drags him back onto the couch, making him sit down again.

            "Thank you, Watari-san."  Tatsumi nods to Watari before continuing.  "Tsuzuki-san and I located them on the second-floor room as notated on the floor plan.  We attempted to neutralize Shidou-san and rescue Kurosaki-kun, but were thwarted."

            "How?"  Wakaba asks, puzzled.  Terazuma thinks it's pretty odd too – the two of them are easily the most powerful Shinigami currently in the department.

            "Saki's got some sort of field around him that's protecting him.  Something like a kekkai barrier," Tsuzuki says, gesturing as if he can somehow describe the nature of the field by waving and wiggling his fingers.  "Tatsumi's shadows can't get a strong enough grip on whatever it is to get around him."

            "In addition, Tsuzuki-san recognized that Kurosaki-kun has fallen into a state of…" Tatsumi looks uncomfortable, but continues coolly.  "Fallen into a state of empathic synchronization with Saki.  He believes that were we to separate them by harming Shidou-san, the shock would damage Kurosaki-kun's mind."

            Terazuma winces.  That can't be a good thing.  "Any way we can make sure that this doesn't hurt Kurosaki?"

            "That's a very good question.  Watari?"  Tatsumi nods.

            "I've got the perfect solution!"  Watari pulls out a silver handgun from a hidden pocket, brandishing it in the air.  

            "You want me to shoot Saki?"  Terazuma looks at it skeptically as Watari hands it to him.  It's ridiculously light, as if it's made of aluminum or plastic.  "With this…thing?"  Terazuma doubts it could take down a fly, much less a crazed lunatic. 

            "Yes and no!  This is a special close-range low caliber tranquilizer gun I developed just for situations like this.  You load the dart here, aim, and fire."  Watari pantomimes the motion.  "Just make sure not to hit anything vital, because it's a powerful tranquilizer – you'll kill him if you miss."

            "So one shot's all I got?"

            "Yep!"

            "I like those odds."  Terazuma grins.

            "Hajime-chan watches too many action movies," Wakaba observes.

            "S-shut up!"

            "Terazuma-san..." Tatsumi's voice carries the hint of a threat.  Terazuma quickly calms down and sits quietly, awaiting further instruction.

            "Tsuzuki-san and I have worked out a plan," Tatsumi states.  "As the best shot in our department, Terazuma-san will tranquilize Saki.  Wakaba, you will cover him.  You two are team one."

            "All right!  Division four to the rescue!"  Wakaba exclaims.

            "Watari-san and I will enter the room first and assault that strange field around Saki.  We will be team two.  Hopefully we'll either take it down or distract Saki enough for you to get a shot in, Terazuma-san."  Tatsumi turns to look at Muraki.  "As for you…"

            Muraki's eyes are unreadable behind his glasses.

            "I didn't want to do this, but as Tsuzuki-san pointed out, we will need all the available manpower we have."  Tatsumi sighs.  It's something that he had been very adamant against, but Tsuzuki had insisted.  "I want you to cover Tsuzuki-san when he goes after Hisoka.  You two will be the third team."

            "All right."  

            Terazuma looks at Muraki suspiciously, as if he doesn't believe that Muraki's compliance would be that easy.

            "Watari-san?"  Tatsumi nods to Watari, giving him the floor.

            "Tatsumi asked me to share my findings with everyone to let you know what I've come up with.  Last night Muraki and I determined that Saki is possessed by something."  Watari fiddles with the latches on his case.  Terazuma irritably wonders if he's going to blow up the house.  

            "I went through some of our old files last night to figure out what exactly is possessing him.  That made me think, because possessions among humans are very, very rare (I checked the statistics), so I ran the DNA again and I realized that there was something about Muraki and Tsuzuki's make up that make them more vulnerable to being possessed than regular people so that means Saki managed to create something totally unique.  Then I thought, I wonder if I could ask him if he could help me with my gender reversal project if he could change something on the DNA level…"

            "Watari-san, the findings on the possession…"  Tatsumi gently interrupts.

            "Oh right.  That.  Well, my conclusion is that what's happened to Saki is not like what happened a couple years ago with that demon."

            Worried murmurs all around.  

            "But!"  Watari raises his right index finger to make his point.  "This isn't a specific demon.  These are natural spirits.  They're not purposefully malicious or beneficial – they're just following their own internal programming."  Terazuma hears a little surprised gasp of inhalation.  He half-turns his head – it's that friend of Muraki's.   Odd, he would have thought maybe Tsuzuki would have been surprised, but Tsuzuki just nods.

            "Spirits?  Do you mean like ghosts?"  Wakaba asks.

            "No.  These are more like naturally occurring phenomena.  They've never been human."

            "So what do we need to do to fix him?" Tsuzuki asks.

            "I'm glad you asked, Tsuzuki!"  Watari opens the case.  Inside is what appears to be a rather sizeable gun, almost like a small futuristic cannon.  "This."  Watari hoists the gun into the air, showing it off with a flourish.  Like the other one, it's shiny and light.  "My patented Ultra Ofuda Plus 3000.  I call it Spengerer-san number two!  It shoots!  It scores!  You win!"

            "Uh…?"  Tsuzuki stares.

            "You just pop it open." Watari demonstrates, flipping the cover off.  Inside, there are a lot of wires and blinking LED lights.  There is also an ofuda inside, held taut between two clasps that slowly rotate the spell paper.  "Insert the ofuda of choice and ta-da!  Instant spell gun.  Of course, this model has an 80-85% loss in energy output, but that's okay!  A fully powered ReiBaku-type spell would kill a normal human being and then some.  If my calculations are correct, this is just strong enough to disrupt whatever field surrounds Saki.  But we better hurry, because according to my theory, if we don't fix him up within the next few hours, it's possible that a stronger entity, like a real demon or angel might notice Saki's state and decide to take up residence."  

            Terazuma gives Tsuzuki a suspicious look.  Tsuzuki shakes his head, his jaw set, and his hands clenched tight.

            "What if your…uh…gun doesn't work?" Terazuma points out.

            "Then we'll have to play it by ear!" Watari grins.

            Terazuma's about to say something snide but Tatsumi cuts him off.

            "That being said," Tatsumi adjusts his glasses.  "First and foremost, this is a rescue mission.  We are not to do anything that might possibly endanger Shidou-san or Kurosaki-kun.  This includes a ban on all shikigami if it can be helped.  The area we're looking at is very limited and calling upon a summon might send Shidou-san teleporting off again to who knows where.  Killing him is also out of the question as it may irreparably damage Kurosaki-kun.  He's already survived one major shock in the last few weeks; another one may just wound him permanently."  Tatsumi looks around the room, meeting the eyes of all the assembled Shinigami.

            Except for Muraki, who stares at the ground and nods in unwilling agreement, his lips twisting with frustration.  

            "This means that all former vendettas must be set aside.   Do you understand?"  This is of course, directed at Muraki.

            "Yes."  Muraki says softly.  He looks up, his mismatched eyes serious.  "I understand, Tatsumi-san."

            "Good.  You have twenty minutes.  Now is the time to ask questions if you have any.  Make sure to go over the basic plans with your teammate.  We'll be heading out at 8:00 A.M. sharp."

            An outside voice interrupts.  It's Oriya.

            "I would like to volunteer," Oriya says evenly.  His eyes meet Tatsumi's from across the room.  Terazuma wonders if he's got something against Saki – it seems like everyone does, these days.

            "I appreciate your concern, Mibu-san," Tatsumi replies.  "However in this instance I would be very grateful if you could stay here and protect Sakaki-san in case Saki decides to teleport again.  For all we know he could come here."

            Oriya looks mildly disappointed, but nods.  "That's acceptable."

            "No more questions?  Good.  Meeting dismissed.  Try to get a little food before we go, everyone."

Sakaki 

            Sakaki insists on helping Wakaba with a quick breakfast for the various visitors, just some toast with jam. It's not much, but he feels like he should do it since he's currently the least useful person in the building.  While it's one thing to be under Muraki's wing, it's another to impose on strangers.

            While the others are standing around the kitchen and dining area munching on toast and discussing technical things about magic that are far beyond his level of comprehension, he finds Muraki sitting in the living room and manages to coax him into coming with him to the kitchen for some food.

            Muraki stands leaning against one of the countertops, a half-filled cup of coffee in his hands, sipping thoughtfully as Sakaki puts some more bread in the toaster.  The rest of the Shinigami have moved over to the dining table to formulate their plans; there's some excited chatter about kekkai field theory and so forth.  If Sakaki pays attention, he can vaguely pick out what's going on, but it's outside of his usual realm of experience.

            "Sensei…"

            "Ah, Muraki?  I hope I'm not interrupting anything."  Tsuzuki walks into the kitchen.  Sakaki turns to look at Tsuzuki; behind him, the brown-suited secretary is watching impassively.

            Muraki shrugs.  He looks blank, but Sakaki knows he's profoundly irritated at something.  Saki guesses that it's most likely a combination of Saki and being singled out at the meeting.  Muraki never liked being criticized in work-related matters.

            "I need to talk to you."  Tsuzuki gives Sakaki a look as if wondering if Muraki would send him away.

            "Yes?  What is it?"  Muraki's stance suggests that he has no plans on dismissing him.  Sakaki turns his back as if to concentrate on the toast, becoming unobtrusive.  Tsuzuki darts a glance at Sakaki, and then walks Muraki over to the far side of the kitchen.  Sakaki counts to ten, hearing Tsuzuki's footsteps move away from him, and then half-turns to watch them out of the corner of his eye.

            "Listen, Muraki."  Tsuzuki looks very serious.  His expression is shadowed with anger and anxiety but he's calm, controlling it.  "I want to make a bargain with you."

            "A bargain?"  Muraki sounds genuinely curious.  This is very unexpected.  He sets down his coffee.

            "I want you to promise me that you won't try to kill Saki..."

            "I can't do that," Muraki interrupts.

            "…And in return, once we get Hisoka back, I promise we'll go see if he can help Ukyou.  Hisoka's an empath and…"

            Muraki grabs Tsuzuki by his lapels, dragging him close.  Sakaki tenses, but does nothing.  Ukyou.  He knows about her but has never met her himself.  There was a picture that Muraki kept in his desk, but Sakaki wasn't supposed to know about it…

            "How do you know about Ukyou?" Muraki hisses, his voice a harsh whisper.

            "In Kyoto, you told me that you had a fiancée.  After the lab burned down, I investigated.  I was curious," Tsuzuki says, untangling Muraki from his coat and getting him to loosen his grip.  "I thought she might know where you were, but the state that she was in brought up some…some bad memories.  So I left."

            "Then why this fancy run-around with Saki, Tsuzuki-san, if you could just blackmail me in the first place?  Why risk it?"

            "Honestly, Muraki, I didn't think about it."  Tsuzuki looks a little embarrassed.  "It's been over a year.  After I saw her, I decided that I'd try to stop thinking about anything relating to the incident in Kyoto."  He says his last few words very deliberately, as if he's choosing his words carefully.  

            Muraki's eyes are hard.  Sakaki doesn't remember ever seeing him this angry before.  It's a fearsome anger - the quieter Muraki gets when he's mad, the more deadly his rage.  He watches warily.

            "Look, Muraki.  We can help each other," Tsuzuki says gently.  "Let go of Saki and I promise we'll help Ukyou.  I swear on it.  I'll get Hisoka to do whatever it takes to help her."

            "Mmm."  Muraki looks away.  It's not a real answer, but it effectively kills the conversation.

            Sakaki finally notices that the brown-suited secretary has been watching this entire exchange.

            "More toast, Tatsumi-san?"  The bread pings up as if on cue.  

            "No thank you, Sakaki-san."  He looks over at Muraki and Tsuzuki, his expression unreadable.  "It's time to go."

Hisoka 

            "I hate you!  I wish you were dead!"  Kazutaka's fingers dig into my throat, his fingernails drawing blood.

            I let him do this for a moment before turning the tables.  It's funny.  He really doesn't know anything about me at all.

            I knock his feet out from under him with a sweep of my right leg and grab his arm when he lets go of me, twisting it behind his back.

            "You asshole.  You made me bleed," I say, my teeth gritted.  

            "Let me go!"  

            I twist his arm even more.  I wonder what amount of pressure it would take to break it.  I'm not going to though.  I just want to see him squirm.

            "Saki!"  He twists, trying to dislodge me but I hold him firmly without giving him quarter, and then I hear the snap of bone.  He screams, a weak sound.

            "Oh God, Kazutaka!"  I didn't mean it.  I didn't…didn't want to hurt him.  I just wanted to scare him.  Just to let him know that he shouldn't try to kill me.  I'm his brother, after all.

            He's crumpled to the floor with a thud; the pain's stunned him into a daze.  

            "Kazutaka!  I'm sorry!  Oh God, I'm so sorry!  I didn't mean to hurt you!"  I scramble to unlock the doors and turn on the light.  The old servant, Sakaki, is already running up the stairs.  I can hear his footsteps pounding against the floorboards.  "I promise, I'll protect you…I promise!  I didn't mean to hurt you!"

            Kazutaka is lying limply on the ground, his gray eyes staring out blankly at nothing.  Except for the rise and fall of his breaths, he looks as though he could be a corpse.

            "I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  God.  Please."  I keep saying this until the words become a meaningless jumble.

            This must be how Cain felt.  That sickening satisfaction mingled with fear.

            There's nowhere to hide from God.  Not even in the darkness of a windowless room.

            The sorrys turn into a little choked laugh after they take Kazutaka downstairs to the hospital wing of the house.  Had there been someone in the room at the time, they probably would have smacked me for my impertinence.

            I don't want to do it.  I'm scared.  But I now realize that I can join mother in hell if I murder.  Thou shalt not.  It says so in the Bible.  I can break two commandments with one crime if I kill the parents first.  Honor thy mother and thy father.  I'll honor my mother by killing my father.

            I'll save Kazutaka for last.  Maybe I'll even let him live.  Just in case.  I don't want to be Cain so I have to wander the earth forever without knowing rest.

            After all, I've got a date with hell…

Saki 

            Because hell is the only place we can be together, brother.  You and I.  

            I always wanted us to be friends, Kazutaka.  Allies.  But from the beginning you pushed me away.  I tried.  I really did.  Yet could I blame you?  You were just a child too.  Even more so because you had lived such a sheltered existence petted and pampered like a doll, even as you were growing into a man.

            Your father betrayed you as much as he betrayed me when he brought us together.  I hated you because you were the child he nurtured.  You hated me because I was the child he wanted.  Still, I thought that we had something in common in our hatred.  An affinity.  I knew that I didn't hate you so much as the idea of you.  And you didn't hate me so much as the idea of me.  But you never understood that.

            It's a simple concept, Kazutaka.  The meanings that people ascribe to things are greater than the things themselves.  You should remember that; it's very important.  Just like these dolls remind you of your mother and your childhood, even though they're really just shells of porcelain and paint with a little hair and clothing to make them look more alive.

            They don't mean anything by themselves.  They're just hollow imitations of humans.  Break one, and it's gone forever.  Patching it back will never make it the same.  It'll always be broken.  Just look for the lines of the breaks.

            All that doesn't matter anymore.  I've got a second chance.  You're here with me again, and it's as if time's turned back on itself somehow.  

            I don't understand how it works, but I want us to be friends now, Kazutaka.  This time I won't hurt you.  I promise.  Cross my heart and hope to die.

            This time, we'll be brothers.  The future hasn't happened yet.

            Let's sing with the dolls, little brother.  They missed you.

Tatsumi 

            In the growing morning light the Shinigami appear in the garden behind the house.  It's overgrown; a tangle of briary roses both crimson and white, vines and creepers eating up the garden walls, the grass high to their knees.

            "Preliminary scouting suggests that one or the both of them might be injured.  As soon as we get them separated, I want them brought back immediately to the infirmary.  Is that clear?"  Tatsumi looks around the assembled Shinigami.  Wakaba and Tsuzuki are holding barrier ofuda in their hands, ready to activate them.  Watari's slipped the goggles on his head over his eyes, his ofuda cannon gripped tightly in his hands.  Terazuma has the tranquilizer pistol in hand.  Muraki looks grim but ready.

            Nods of assent all around.  "Then let's go."

Muraki 

            Damn Saki that he would come here.  

            I haven't been here since I had it locked up almost a year ago – when we open the back door, there's enough unsettled dust in the air to make some of the others sneeze.

            In the past, I never brought anyone here if I could help it.  Only Sakaki and Oriya ever did come to the house – it felt wrong to impose my memories on others, on people that did not deserve it.  Especially, I did not allow Ukyou to come.

            I wonder if that would have made a difference.  But I was young then, and the past weighed so heavily that it felt as though I could be crushed by it.  For the longest time, since university I believe, I lived in little apartments in the city.  It seemed as though I could run away from myself.

            I suppose I never did.

            Still, I wonder now, as the Shinigami move through the house, deliberate steps through the kitchen and into the parlor where all the pictures on the wall are (excepting those of my parents and Saki; I removed them years ago), what Ukyou would have made of this house.  Would she have felt its haunted presence just as I had a lifetime ago?  Would she have walked up through the stairs, her profile catching in the light just as Wakaba's does, the ribbons in her hair rustling as she turns her head toward the upstairs hall?

            Would the memories of blood and betrayal still seep out from the very walls themselves?

            Ukyou…

            I never told you this, Ukyou, and it seems silly, but this man, this Tsuzuki who now walks beside me…  From the very beginning, he reminded me of you.  Before the accident, before the person that was you disappeared from my life, leaving behind only a silent shell.

            And what would I have said to that?  That you both had a certain wistfulness, that you both had your particular quirks.  It was an insult beyond ridiculousness when I first saw him in his black coat, in haste but yet with respect for the sacred, walking up to me to ask for directions.  Worried, but with a certain poise, a certain grace.

            One that reminded me of you.

            An insult.  You both had that same fluster when I pressed; you both had a capacity for loving others that I never understood.  I still don't.

            But now, he's the one who's offering me a second chance.  He, who I chased and tormented and nearly destroyed, trying to bring out something in him that wasn't you.  That didn't make me think of cold fingers on a rainy day, that didn't make me think of the press of your lips against mine.  That something in him that would destroy me too.

            I wanted him to be my equal in madness.  But instead, he kept reminding me of you.

            I don't know what to do anymore, Ukyou.  I don't know what I should do.  

            If I could ask you…if you could answer…

Tatsumi 

            They're here.  Tatsumi glares at his partner, who's lost in thought.  Wakaba pokes Muraki and he starts.  Terazuma gives him a scowl as if to say, "Pay attention, idiot."  Muraki nods quickly, as if he's just woken up.  Tatsumi sighs, shaking his head.

            He turns his attention away from his errant partner and begins to gather shadows beneath his outstretched hand until they're a roiling mass ready to move at his command.  He looks over at Watari and nods.  Watari flashes him an 'okay' sign with his fingers, hefting his ofuda cannon.

            They're going in.   

            Light mixed with dark, the field around Saki pulsates like an erratic heartbeat, growing and contracting as it moves.  Since Tatsumi and Tsuzuki's earlier visit, Saki hasn't moved, cradling Hisoka in his arms like a lifeless doll.  Tatsumi winces at the image.   He hadn't been very serious earlier – he was just trying to get a feel for it.  He had quickly learned that he couldn't do much against the energy signature of the field himself – the shadows were nearly useless against it.  It reminds him of that night when Muraki took Tsuzuki from Meifu – that brilliant light had reduced the shadows around them to a level that he couldn't use, tiny shadows only someone like Sato could manipulate.  Tatsumi's powers work best when there are deep pools of shadow that he can draw from; he can gather far more powerful shadows than Sato ever could. 

            Tatsumi swirls the shadows around himself and Watari, ready to block anything that comes their way.  He moves forward slowly.  Watari goes before him, one hand on his cannon, another on some sort of device that's reading the signature of the energy field.

            "He's leeching off Bon to keep that field up," Watari whispers.  "Gotta move fast."  He tucks the sensory device away.

            Tatsumi nods and glances at the others, gesturing for them to follow.

            Watari powers up his ofuda cannon.  It hums gently.  Behind them on opposite sides of the doorway, Tsuzuki and Wakaba stand tensely, their ofudas held tautly between their upraised fingers, ready to go in. 

            And that's when Saki turns.

Terazuma 

            "Go!"  Tatsumi's shadows swirl into a shield to protect Watari as the field around Saki begins to expand.  Individual sections of his shadow shield contract and expand to tear and destroy tendrils of dark matter escaping the field.  Terazuma runs into the room, bypassing Tatsumi and Watari, porcelain shards crunching under his feet, the tranquilizer gun brought to the fore.  He should have brought sunglasses; that's what he's thinking, because the light in the room is blinding, blowing away the shadows so that there is nearly no darkness left in the room.  Tatsumi must be drawing from the hallway, Terazuma thinks dimly as he looks for an opening. 

            He can just make out Saki's outline and that of Hisoka's through the light.

            Wakaba is, of course, at his side.  He didn't even notice her move, but he trusts her implicitly to protect him.  Off to the right, Watari's shooting, the ofuda cannon sending out brilliant orange and violet pulses that disrupt the field around it.  Where the field crumbles from the power of the ofuda cannon, there are openings.  Terazuma's bracing his shooting hand with his free hand, patiently waiting for a gap that is big enough to send his dart through; he's got Saki in his sights and knows exactly where he wants to shoot.  

            Terazuma doesn't notice this, but around them are swirls of black coiling darkness that look like shadows but aren't, being something of a darker and stranger consistency.  They're seeking…

            Suddenly, Wakaba screams.  Terazuma's jolted out of his concentration at that sound.  The ofuda in her hand has shredded away, and tendrils are dragging her in toward the field.  

            "Kannuki!"

            Before he thinks, he places himself between her and the field, heels digging into the floorboards to keep her from being dragged in.  Shards slide around his feet and fly toward the field; they pulverize as they touch the blinding whiteness.  Can't let the dark things touch me, he thinks, they'll break my concentration, I'll keep them from taking her, those black things that go through ofuda like a hot knife through butter… Automatically, he tucks her against his back, wrapping his arm around her waist from behind to keep her firmly against him so that she can't be pulled in further.

            The tendrils begin to drag them both in.  Terazuma grits his teeth, trying to hold his position.  There's a bare six, maybe seven inches before he'd be dragged into the field.  He expects that it won't kill him, but it won't be much fun to go through.  Five inches now.  Four.  It's lapping at his feet.

            "Now, Terazuma!  Do it!"  A voice calls.  Watari's.  

            There's a big enough opening.  The disruption of Watari's cannon has hit a high note – there's a nearly unbearable squeal from the cannon that makes him wince as whatever mechanical parts in it begin to fail from the strain of the energy output.

            Terazuma shoots, aiming for the upper left shoulder.

Muraki 

            In that instant when Saki looks around in confusion as the dart hits him from behind and the field is disrupted, Tsuzuki moves, faster than I could ever expect, to whisk the boy out of his arms.  It seems to happen between a blink and a breath – Tsuzuki's back again now with the boy dangling limply from his arms.

            It's so tempting, so very tempting to just lash out with one of my forbidden spells to crush the last gasps of life out of him.  Saki, so vulnerable, so weak, with a look of surprise in his eyes and a pool of blood around him that's soaked into the boy.  

            I move before I realize it, only to have Tsuzuki drag me back, his fingers tangled in my sleeve.  But it's a half-hearted effort – I could easily shrug him off and close those inches between myself and that hateful brother.  Saki.  I snarl out the word in frustration.

            I twist back to glare at Tsuzuki.  But his expression...  

            I remember another pair of darker eyes.  The eyes, that voice, that once told me that she wouldn't let me go.  Ukyou.  Tsuzuki's lovely eyes plead with me silently even as the muscles in my body shake with the desire to crush the life out of Saki.  Would that you were here, Ukyou, you would have told me the same thing.

            It's perhaps the hardest decision I've made in my life.  In my afterlife.  I turn my head.  I can't look at Saki now that he's vulnerable, because if I do, I'll be tempted again.  I'd kill him if I only could, but not if that means losing you forever, Ukyou.

            As long as there's a chance…I'll take it.

            There's another ten seconds before the tranquilizer's effects will take hold.   

            Nine.  I can feel the field around him restabilize, light pouring back out from behind me.  Dispassionately, I think that there must be some reserve left in Saki that Watari didn't predict.  I've lost my only chance to kill him.  After this, the Shinigami will protect him from me.

            Eight.  Tatsumi's shadows are spent, but the light from the dissipating field doesn't die down and he can't hold his shield much longer, not if he's to protect both himself and Watari.

            Seven.  Terazuma has shifted position, turning away from the field, holding Wakaba back from the tendrils of black that have wrapped around her arms and legs, trying to drag her in.

            Six.  My protective field manages to block the tendrils from attacking Tsuzuki and me; I'm using my powers to disperse those black coils as they come near us.  It's harder than it looks and takes nearly all my concentration.  Hisoka isn't breathing.  Tsuzuki says that over and over again, panicking.

            Five.  Watari yells, "He's trying to teleport.  Stop him!"

            Four.  Tatsumi's head swivels, looking for enough shadow to get Saki.  He turns to Terazuma, who's stood in the same spot for at least a minute and a half.  His shadow's burnt into the ground – the light can't touch it.  

            Three.  With a quick gesture, Tatsumi sends a sliver of Terazuma's shadow through Saki's wrist, impaling the flesh and tethering him down.  It's an old trick.  The teleport won't work if Tatsumi's shadow is tying him down.

            Two.  Saki's taken too much energy from the boy.  He'll fall into the true death if someone doesn't do anything soon.  Immediately, I know what to do.  There's a spell that saved me once in New York so many years ago, a spell that gave me a new life.  The blue-eyed Shinigami…(his name was Roy…)  

            And I reverse the spell.

            One.  I put my hand along the boy's throat, brushing aside a few loose strands of wheat-gold hair, feeling the power drain down into his nearly lifeless body from my hand.  I'm almost dizzy from the sudden energy loss but it'll work.  Almost.  It works better if I do this…

            I half-push Tsuzuki away and lean down.  My lips touch the boy's.  The circuit completes and power flows into him from me.  I can feel his breath move weakly against my cheek, stirring against my skin.  Tsuzuki pulls the both of us close as the light and dark of the field swirl violently around us before it collapses upon itself.  

            The three of us disappear.

Terazuma 

            On the opposite side of the room from Muraki, Terazuma stumbles and falls over onto Wakaba as the field flickers down.  He knocks her to the ground, fortunately in a corner that's mostly free from broken shards of glass and porcelain.

            For a moment the two of them lay where they've fallen, panting from the exertion.  Terazuma feels like he has just run a marathon, his heart pounding from the rush of adrenaline.

            "Kannuki, you okay?"

            "Hajime, you're squishing me…" Wakaba pushes at him when she's found her voice.

            "S-sorry!"  Terazuma throws himself off of her, managing to cut his hand open on a shard of broken glass.  "Ow!"

            "Hajime, are you all right?"  Wakaba takes his hand.  It's bleeding badly.

            "Ow…shit.  Yeah, I'll be all right…look, it's already closing up," Terazuma says, clasping her hand gently as if to reassure her that he's all right.  His blood is already disappearing, seeping back into the broken skin.

            "Hajime…"  Wakaba's eyes light up.

            "What?"  Terazuma looks annoyed.  It's that look that says, 'Hajime, I'd like you to re-roof the house please' or 'Hajime, I think you'd look good in this dress.'  "What is it?"

            "You're touching me."  Wakaba's fingers tighten on his hand for a moment, as if she wants to savor the feeling before he changes.

            Terazuma yelps and lets her go as if he's touched a live wire.  Soon, KokuShunGei will stir and he'll transform and…and…

            "Hey, wait a minute."  Terazuma blinks.  "I…You…"

            "You didn't transform."  Wakaba blinks.

            "Well, holy shit."  Terazuma looks pleased and surprised.  "Let's try that again."  He stands up, and offers his hand to Wakaba.

            Wakaba smiles.  Dusting off her skirt, she takes his hand, and lets him pull her up to her feet.

            "Damn."  Terazuma grins like an idiot, lifting their entwined fingers so he can get a better look at himself touching Wakaba. "Wow."

            He pulls Wakaba into a spontaneous hug.  "Wow."  It's all he seems to be able to say.  "Wow."

Tatsumi 

            As soon as the chaos dies down, Tatsumi and Watari go to tend to Saki, who like the field has collapsed, sprawled out on the ground like a broken marionette.  Tatsumi pulls out the tranquilizer dart, pocketing it so they leave as little evidence as possible, while Watari checks his pulse.  There's blood everywhere.  Saki is slowly bleeding to death from the slice of a katana – Oriya's work, Tatsumi thinks grimly.  Somehow, it seems fitting.

            "No time to waste," Tatsumi says, but Watari's way ahead of him.  Watari and Saki disappear.  Tatsumi looks around to make sure everything is all right before following.  He's the only one left.  The others have gone before him.  He stands up, straightening himself as he surveys the damage.  The dolls are all broken, every one.  

            He nods to himself, as if the answer is now acceptable.  Tatsumi disappears into his own shadow, which melts away after him.

            Tsuzuki and Muraki are already in the infirmary by the time he makes it there.

            Tsuzuki is sitting in a chair beside Hisoka's limp body, his hand clutching the boy's.  The bed's elevated so that Hisoka's propped up and Muraki's checking his vital signs.  Tatsumi walks over as Watari begins to patch Saki back up.

            "Is he all right?"  Tatsumi asks Tsuzuki softly.

            "Yes.  He's just sleeping now."  Tsuzuki's violet eyes brim with tears.  "He…he almost…but then…Muraki…"

            "It's all right, Tsuzuki-san," Tatsumi says, resting his hand on Tsuzuki's shoulder.  

            "He's a little bruised and dehydrated, but he'll be all right," Muraki says tiredly.

            "Thank you for your effort," Tatsumi says to Muraki.  "Let's give them a little privacy," he adds.  Muraki nods, following him away from Hisoka's bed.

            Tatsumi leads them over to the far side of the room where they can watch Watari patch up Saki.

            "I'm not going to help Watari-san," Muraki says simply as he sits down on a chair.  In the distance, Watari is using a mix of magic, medical science, and potions to stabilize Saki.  Tatsumi sits down in the chair beside him, for once not bothering to move it like he normally would.  "I'd be tempted to let him die on the operating table.  Malpractice is costly these days."

            Tatsumi nods.  "So I hear.  I'm glad you didn't try."  Though part of him is secretly disappointed because he wanted a chance at impaling Muraki with a shadow.

            Muraki is about to say something, but instead he yawns.  He looks exhausted.  

            Tatsumi can't help yawning as well.  It's contagious.  

            He closes his eyes.  Just a few minutes, he thinks, since everything's calmed down.  After all, he deserves a moment's rest.  It's been non-stop madness for the last week and a half.  After this, he's going to request vacation time for everyone involved.  His treat.

            He almost startles when Muraki's head touches his shoulder.  Muraki's fallen asleep.

            Oddly, Tatsumi doesn't feel like throwing him off a cliff or strangling him.  Well, not immediately.  He lets Muraki sleep…for now.

            Just for now, Tatsumi says to himself as he drowses off.  Not because I trust him or anything, but because I feel sorry for the poor bastard.  

            Just because…something something?  Tatsumi can't remember what he was just thinking as sleep overtakes him.

Hisoka 

            When I wake up, half the department is actually in the infirmary with me.  Terazuma and Wakaba are sitting with Saki, who looks pale and drawn in sleep, but alive.  I think they're guarding him or something.  They're whispering between each other, something about daring the other to wake someone up.  Wonder who they're talking about.  Watari's sprawled out on one of the extra beds, his safety goggles dangling from a lax outstretched hand, snoring blissfully.  

            For some reason, Muraki and Tatsumi are sleeping in their chairs with their heads resting against each other across the room.  I don't even want to think about why they're doing that, because that's just too insane for words. 

            And Tsuzuki's holding my hand.  I can feel the warmth of his concern radiating through my body from that touch.  It feels good, but I'm really thirsty. 

            "Water."  My voice is raw, as if I've been screaming or something.  I sort of don't remember all of it.  Last night…last night feels like a blur of bad nightmares, one after another.  I'm trying to sort out the jumble of images and memories, trying to decipher which ones are mine and which ones are Saki's.  At one point, I think I did something pretty nasty to Muraki…no wait, that wasn't me.  I guess I'm still mixed up in my head. 

            "Hisoka, you're awake!"  Tsuzuki says loudly, inadvertently waking everyone up.  I wince from the empathic backlash.  That much surprise in one room is really, really annoying.  He hands me a glass of cold water, and I gulp it down.

            "Of course." I say irritably, my voice weak and scratchy.

            "Hisoka…" Tsuzuki's eyes look hurt.

            "Sorry, Tsuzuki.  Noisy," I say apologetically.  I'm trying to limit my words because my throat feels like crap.  I need more water, so I hold out the cup up again.  He refills it from a pitcher and I drink it down.

            "Are you all right?"  His hand feels hot against mine.  Sheepish embarrassment and gratitude.  I give it a squeeze.  

            "Yeah," I say, my voice rasping.  "Feels good."  I chance a smile.  

            He reaches over and hugs me, tight.  

            For a moment, I'm sort of surprised because I didn't feel that coming…but then, my arms go around him, his warmth against me.  He feels so nice.  

            I don't want to ever let him go.

            "Thank you."  I whisper into his ear.  He sobs gently against my shoulder, but they're tears of happiness.  He's grateful I'm alive and I'm grateful that he's here. I hold him tight, protecting him as he protects me.  There's no need for words.

            Tsuzuki feels so good.  So right.  The events of the night before seem to disappear when I'm in his arms.  It's like being bathed with warm, clean water after being dragged through the muck and mire of bad memories.  There's so much I want to tell him about what I saw, but even as I think about it it's like a dream, fading as I melt into him.

            "Wah, Hisoka!  You're all right!"  Wakaba comes bounding over, dragging a flustered Terazuma behind her.  I look up.  He's blushing furiously and radiating enough embarrassment to turn up the temperature around us by ten degrees.

            I manage a smile, and give Tsuzuki a little squeeze before letting him go.  "Yeah, Back in one piece, mostly."

            Even though our embrace has ended for now, our fingers are still entwined.

Muraki 

            I wake up with a start at the sound of Tsuzuki-san's voice, managing to knock my head against someone else's.  

            "Tatsumi-san." I start, realizing who I had been leaning against in my sleep.

            "You."  He does as well, looking momentarily shocked before covering it with that veil of professional disinterest.

            We give each other a good long glare.  I settle into straightening my coat and adjusting my glasses.  Unintentionally, he's doing the exact same thing.

            I give him a dark look.  He returns it.

            The others are gathered around Tsuzuki and the boy, cheerfully chatting with him now that he's conscious.  I take advantage of the momentary distraction to move towards Saki's bedside.

            I sit down in a vacated chair, merely a foot away from Saki.  The bed's been raised so that he can sit; he's conscious but groggy, patched up from his misadventures.  We watch each other for a minute or two silently.

            I study his face, the first time I've been able to get a good look at his adult self.  He's very different from the Saki he was those many years ago.  He's taller now and broader; the man that the boy has become has kept some of the same traits but has changed overall.  He's no longer smiling nearly as much, that empty cold smile of his is forever gone.  There are some fine lines on his face that show that he's aging, the beginnings of wrinkles that indicate a man who frowns more than he smiles, lines that over time are revealing his character.  I'm reminded of how he's just a little older than me.  In the light, I notice a few gray hairs mixed in with the black.

            I'm curious.  I'd like to know what possessed me not to kill him after all this time.  Strange, in that moment when I looked away, it somehow didn't hurt as much as it did a year ago.  It wasn't the culmination of years of planning, of invested effort and calculated destruction, of murder and torment and promises of death by the light of the blood red moon.  I was mad – oh yes, the hate didn't fade when I decided not to kill him, and still hasn't – but something's different. Oddly, it's now just a surprisingly mild disappointment that I can't end his life.

            It almost feels as though my life was something that happened to someone else.

            Of course, Tatsumi is watching over us this entire time, but there are no rules against talking.

            "You can't just hold still and die, can you, Saki?"  I cross my legs at the knee, watching him with a calculated physician's eye.  He's lost a large amount of blood and is as weak as a kitten.  I could easily hold the pillow over his face until he dies of asphyxiation.  I amuse myself with these thoughts as he watches me.

            "I'd say the same about you, Kazutaka.  Aren't you supposed to be dead?"  His voice is much deeper than I remember it.  

            " I am dead, Saki."

            "Oh."  He stares at me for a moment, as if he doesn't quite get it.  "Really?"

            I nod.  "The funeral wasn't a sham."  I brush back my hair to reveal my pale blue eye. 

            "Impressive prosthetic," Saki says.  "Looks almost real."  Obviously he's heard about my eye.

            "It is real," I say.  "The prosthetic was quite a bit more ungainly.  But Saki, it's been almost twenty years.  I'm certain there are other things you'd rather talk about than my health.  Really, is that any way to greet your dear brother?"  The banality of this conversation is shocking.  Absolutely freakish.  I suppose I had been expecting something a little more dramatic.

            "I wasn't expecting much of a greeting after the attempted murders," Saki says wryly.  "Watching you rant at that head in the jar was more than enough for me to know I wasn't welcome."

            "You…watched?"  I blink.  I hadn't quite considered that.

            "Of course.  Satomi and I were hoping that you'd ask him to clone parts off of that mysterious Tsuzuki-san of yours.  Instead, you went off on your mad schemes.  I should have known that you wouldn't have taken the direct route – that would be too logical."

            "Really, Saki, you should have known better."  I'm getting irritated with him.  "I've always preferred a hands-on approach for important matters and I know surgery far better than cloning.  Besides, Satomi's experiments were less than successful."

            "That's what he wanted you to think.  You were always very narrow-minded, Kazutaka."  He shifts position, wincing in pain.  "Short-sighted and too full of yourself.  It figures that you wouldn't have changed that much in all these years."

            "I think I'm quite a bit different than when we were children, Saki."  I glare at him.  "For one, you can no longer beat me."

            "True, but then again, I'm not the one who's dead," he points out.

            "Saki…" The word comes out as a growl.  I can't believe how easy it is for him to rouse me to anger.  I can nearly feel the magic crackling beneath my fingertips.

            "Muraki-san…"  Tatsumi's voice cuts in.  "Perhaps it's best to leave Shidou-san to heal," he says firmly, directing me away from Saki.

            Saki yawns at me as if bored.  I'd lash out at him, but Tatsumi is already dragging me away.  Damn the man's efficiency.  By the time I can think of something to say in response to Saki, he's already ushered me out of the infirmary and into the hallway.

            Then I realize something.  I shrug off his grip and straighten my coat.

            "Tatsumi-san."

            "Yes?"  

            "I believe that's the first time you've called me by name."

            "Is it?"  Tatsumi pushes his spectacles up on his nose with one hand.  "And the point of that is…?"

            "Never mind," I reply.  I adjust my glasses as well.  "It was merely an observation."

            His blue eyes are cool.  "I see."  He looks at me thoughtfully for a moment before switching gears.  I can nearly hear the click in his mind as it resets to pure business.  "It's almost noon.  I believe we should take your friends home," Tatsumi says.

            I nod in agreement.  "It's about that time."

            The two of us walk to Terazuma's house.  It's a very lovely day in Meifu. 

Terazuma 

            "Hey Kannuki, we better get home.  Still got some houseguests to take care of."  Terazuma looks at his watch.  It's noon.  "Better let Kurosaki get some rest."

            "All right!"  Wakaba gives Hisoka a spontaneous hug that makes his eyes widen from surprise.  Terazuma grins as she fusses over the younger Shinigami.

            "Take care of yourself, kid."

            They take their leave of the infirmary and begin to walk home.

            It's a beautiful day outside.

            Terazuma's feeling kind of nervous.  There's been something on his mind, something that he's thought of doing but hasn't ever tried.  Something kind of crazy.

            "Uh…Kannuki…" he says, once they're out of the department, walking down the sakura-lined avenue.  He looks around to make sure no one's watching.  They're alone.

            "Yes?"  Wakaba turns to him.

            Terazuma steels himself.  He's a little pink around the edges.

            "I…uh.." He sets his face as if going into battle, walks up to her, and without further ado lifts her in his arms, cradling her in his grasp.  She's a little heavier than he imagined, but not a burden at all.

            "Ha-Hajime-ch-chan!"  Wakaba turns bright red.  She looks absolutely shocked.

            Terazuma's not much better.  "So…uh…I remembered…that…er…you wanted to…to be taken home this way andIthoughtyoulookedkindoftired so…er…" He's blushing madly.

            "Ha~ji~me-cha~an"  Wakaba sighs, her voice turned sweet.  It's that voice that drips honey and portends evil.

            "W-what?!  D-don't do anything weird!  I-I might drop you if you…gaaah!"  She flings her arms around his neck.  He can smell her – she smells sweet, like that shampoo she uses, but it's different up close.  It's different when it's not a waft of lingering fragrance in the air.

            Up close she smells very…good.

            Terazuma can feel his cheeks burn.  And it's nothing like KokuShunGei's fire.

            He inhales, a deep sigh, trying to get his thoughts together.  Left foot forward, Hajime.  Right foot after.  "Why…why don't we go home then...."  

            And he carries her back home just like that.

Oriya 

            Over the last few hours, he's watched Sakaki do the dishes and they've had tea.   Twice.  It's not that the waiting makes him anxious; it's mostly the unnatural feel of Meifu, with the added physical irritation of not being able to change out of his sleep clothes.  

            In the daylight Sakaki looks a lot more rumpled – even though his clothes are fairly clean given his recent adventures, he could still use a shave and fresh clothing.  Oriya finds it amusing how Sakaki's hair sticks up in the morning.  His own is surprisingly well-behaved given its length.

            They've been discussing their respective run-ins with Saki while they wait.

            However, by the time the clock strikes noon, Oriya has this growing suspicion that if someone doesn't return to take them back to Chijou soon, he'll soon be tempted to drape himself on the secretary so that he doesn't have to feel this near-to-overwhelming spiritual sensation of deadness so acutely.  Already, Sakaki is beginning to unconsciously pick up on the shift in Oriya's temperament and is growing nervous.

            Fortunately, that's about the time Tatsumi and Muraki return.

            "Tatsumi-san, I disagree – I don't see why…" Even as they come in the door, the two are fighting.

            Oriya stands up from his seat at the dining room table, pushing the chair back hard enough to nearly knock it over.  "Muraki.  Kokakurou.  Now."  Oriya's at about the edge of his endurance – it's been almost twelve hours of being in Meifu and his nerves are shot.

            "Oh, then could someone take me back home to To-" Sakaki starts.  Oriya cuts him off too.  

            "You can come to Kokakurou with me, Sakaki-kun.  As long as we leave right now."

            "Aren't you at all curious as to what happened, Oriya?"  Muraki's teasing him.  Oriya grits his teeth.  Even in death Muraki is still a troublemaker.  Oriya feels a certain amount of sympathy for the Shinigami staff.

            "Tell me when we get home.  To my home," Oriya specifies.

            Muraki gives Tatsumi a little shrug, as if to say that there's not much more he can do.  Tatsumi nods.  "Let's go then."

            A few minutes later, and they're in Kokakurou.  Oriya breathes a deep sigh of relief as the real world coalesces around him.  It's his courtyard garden.  Oriya thinks that the world has never felt quite so alive as it does now, the plants giving off that pleasant aura of living things.  Only the Shinigami stand out, like two blank spots in the world around them.  He and Sakaki walk to his office, leaving their shoes on the raised porch.  Above, the wind gently rattles a wind chime shaped like a fish.  Muraki stands in the garden, looking around, Tatsumi by his side.

            Oriya feels tense muscles relaxing as he returns home.

            The evidence of the previous night seems to have disappeared – the Shinigami are thorough, Oriya thinks, when it involves supernatural evidence.  He can feel the traces of lingering magic – it must have been a spell of some sort, perhaps ofuda-based.  Oriya is about to say something about this when a gray shadow darts by his hand.

            It's the cat.

            "Ah, Asato-neko."  Muraki kneels down on the stone paving.  He makes a little pursed noise with his lips, like little kisses.  The cat comes sauntering over to Muraki.  Oriya notices that Tatsumi's eye is twitching.  

            "She's being spoiled rotten by the staff," Oriya says.  "Since they can't feed you sea bream, they're giving it to her."  

            "I see my popularity remains unhindered by my death," Muraki says dryly.  Asato-neko is sniffing at Muraki's fingers.

            "I still can't believe you named your cat Asato."  Tatsumi sounds very irritated.  

            "Oh, but she does remind me of someone I know," Muraki says as the cat arches under his caress.  He rubs her chin; she purrs in contentment.

            Tatsumi twitches.  Oriya suppresses a smile – he now does feel very sorry for the Shinigami.

            "I highly doubt /that/ person would appreciate it," Tatsumi replies.  He kneels down to pet the cat as well – Asato-neko takes a swipe at his hand that leaves Muraki chuckling.

            "That person has met Asato-neko.  Once.  But I don't think he saw her."  Muraki says, letting his hands stroke through the sleek gray fur.

            "Oh?  Care to tell me about it?" Tatsumi asks, straightening up.  The little line of red on his hand fades nearly instantly.

            "I was following Tsuzuki-san.  It was raining, as I recall.  He passed an alley, and just as I crossed it, this little one ran into my legs.  We both had ourselves a little scare.  After that, I had to put off my adventures for the day."  Muraki picks up the cat, disregarding the wisps of cat hair that are sticking to his clothes, and rubs his cheek against its head.  "She was just a tiny thing then."  Asato-neko purrs.

            Tatsumi opens his mouth as if to say something, but then decides against it.  "I see.  I hope that you are done communing with your pet so that we may return…"

            "Won't you join us for lunch, Tatsumi-san?"  Oriya suggests.  Tatsumi's expression suggests that he'd rather go back to Meifu, but then Oriya adds, "I insist, for taking us under your protection, if nothing else."

            A little war goes on inside of Tatsumi's head.  Oriya can see it in his expressive blue eyes.  

            "It's on the house."  Oriya adds.  

            "Well…just this time," Tatsumi relents, adjusting his glasses.  "I suppose you deserve to know what will happen to Shidou-san."

            Oriya masks a smile.  Free lunch, he notes, is an excellent bargaining chip.  He will definitely make sure to remember this.

            He leads them into his office, calling for the servants while the fall of the sakura petals tangle with the autumn leaves as they drop from the trees.

Tatsumi 

            Later that afternoon, Tatsumi returns to the infirmary to check up on Saki.  It will take a few more days for Saki to recover completely, but they'll send him home to Chijou as soon as possible, which most likely means the next morning.  He's picked up a few new scars, a little faded spot of white where Tatsumi's shadow had gone through his wrist, and a fading pink-white slash along his chest where Oriya had sliced him.  

            Watari had earlier decided that the best solution would be a transfusion of a small amount of Tsuzuki's blood to replace the blood Saki had lost – they're of the same blood type and certain elements of Tsuzuki's blood would patch that genetic weakness that Saki created.

            Saki is awake and alert.  Tatsumi's sent the others away to debrief him.   Earlier, Hisoka was moved to the far side of the room, closer to the window where he and Tsuzuki are now sitting, watching the sakura trees quietly together.  Watari suggested that he stay the rest of the afternoon for observation, just in case.

            It almost leaves Tatsumi with a twinge of pain, but to see the happiness on Tsuzuki's face, the hurt subsides quickly, replaced by a wistful fondness.  Then again, there is business.

            That always comes first.

            Tatsumi's surprised at how genial the brother is, but friendliness has never blinded him to the fact that Saki has caused a lot of expensive trouble.

            "To start, you're currently forbidden from going within fifty meters of either Sakaki-san or Mibu-san.  It's up to them whether they want to press charges in the civil courts of Chijou, but we will be watching you closely."

            Saki nods slowly.  He winces a little – he's still healing.

            "I highly recommend that you return to America, Shidou-san.  I can't control your brother's actions all the hours of the day, but he is currently prohibited from visiting foreign countries without special dispensation while he's under our jurisdiction.  For your own safety, you should leave this country."

            Saki is about to interrupt, but Tatsumi shakes his head.  Intelligently, he keeps his mouth shut.  Tatsumi idly thinks that the brothers should learn from each other when it comes to shutting up.

            "In addition, the Peace Division is currently torching your labs and erasing all your data."  At that, Saki's eyes bulge, but Tatsumi continues, a raised hand signaling that Saki should keep his peace for now.  Saki manages to stay quiet.  "We leave no evidence, so the insurance money should be enough for you to buy yourself a state-of-the-art facility in the States.  However, we highly recommend that you choose a different field of research and cease researching the immortal cell because if we find out that you're continuing that line of research, we will notify our counterparts in America and have them deal with you in whatever manner they see fit."

            "That doesn't leave much room for what I want to do, does it?" Saki looks at Tatsumi, as if testing the waters.

            "Not if you want to live."  Tatsumi's gaze is level.  "Your brother is dead, Shidou-san.  Let it go."

            "Let it go?  You say that so easily."  

            "You sound just like him when you say that."  But even then Saki is expressionless.  "This isn't a suggestion, Shidou-san.  It's an order.  Leave it alone, or suffer the consequences."

            "And what would those consequences be?"

            Tatsumi shrugs.  "Your choice.  We have both cold and hot places of punishment.  Swords of fire or ice.  Nothing like your Christian hells, I assure you.  We're purely administrative."

            Saki looks very skeptical.  "I don't believe in it."  

            "Belief is not necessary if it already exists.  For example, you just lived through a minor possession and had someone's shadow put through your wrist.  You may not believe in magic or spirits, Shidou-san, but it happened anyway.  The scar on your arm bears evidence."

            "This could have been from anything.  Perhaps I was shot."  

            Tatsumi adjusts his glasses and spreads his hand out.  Saki's shadow quivers, and he's lifted a few inches above his bed.  "I hate parlor tricks, but I'll prove a point if I must."

            Saki gapes.  

            "So now, Shidou-san.  Tell me what you remember."  Tatsumi lets the shadow settle, and Saki floats back down.

            Saki's brown eyes flicker with unspoken emotion for a moment, before his expression grows calm.

            "I don't remember anything," he says.  "All I remember was my lab.  After that, it's all a blur."

            Tatsumi considers pressing it, but decides against it.  

            Saki's eyes are emotionless.

            "Very well.  I'll have Watari-san take you home in the morning."

            "Thank you, Tatsumi-san."

            "Of course."  Tatsumi stands, and takes his leave, shutting the infirmary door behind him.

            After this, he has one more thing to do for the day.

            "Muraki-san?"  Muraki is waiting in the hallway for him. 

            "Yes?"  

            "Please follow me."  Tatsumi leads him down the hall to his old office.  A week without his care and it's already starting to fall into chaos, entropy reigning in his once orderly world.  

            Tatsumi looks around the office.  There are about seven or eight different places that Konoe would have thought to put it.  He considers which one would be the least likely and starts there.  He quickly pulls out an envelope from underneath a pile of interdepartmental message folders and grabs a little pamphlet from his old desk drawer that he slips into his coat pocket.

            "Let's go."  Tatsumi says.  He doesn't bother looking at the contents of the envelope.

            Muraki follows quietly.

            They walk through Meifu.  It's late afternoon and the sun is at that particular height in the sky that leaves beams of hazy golden light filtering through the trees.  Tatsumi walks in the direction of home.  He knows where they house new Shinigami; his house is further down along that street.  To the south is Sato's house, and then several blocks over to the west is Terazuma and Wakaba's house.

            Tatsumi stops at a particular intersection.  There's a bland concrete block building, a fairly anonymous monster of a complex that's housed its share of Shinigamis.  Most spend at least a few weeks to a few months here before earning enough money or merit to move up and out.  Tsuzuki was here for nearly two years, Tatsumi recalls with a smile.  

            It's at this point Tatsumi opens the envelope and pulls out the key.  Number nine.  Tatsumi remembers living in that apartment himself when he first came here.  It's a strange contrast, the thought of giving it up to Muraki's residence.

            "Here's your key," Tatsumi says.  "And your bank account booklet.  The first two weeks were already paid in advance to you in cash when you officially began last week, but this is your official stipend, which you can withdraw from at the general accounting office.  Please be advised that you'll have to watch your spending closely"

            "Of course.  The pay here is quite miserly," Muraki says.

            Tatsumi agrees with him on this one.  However, it's obvious to anyone who's in this job.  "Ah, of course.  This.  I nearly forgot."  Tatsumi pulls out the little pamphlet.

            "Please use this as reference for per diem reimbursement rates," Tatsumi hands the colorful little pamphlet to Muraki.  On the cover in bold letters are the words: 'A Child's Guide to Spending.'

            Muraki raises an eyebrow, but takes the pamphlet.  "I will be certain to study this closely, Tatsumi-san," he says dryly.

            "Good.  Then I'll see you tomorrow morning, Muraki-san."

            Muraki nods.  He turns to stare at the door as if wondering what to do, key in hand.  

            That's how Tatsumi leaves him.

Muraki 

            A key, a bank book, and a pamphlet.  It's ridiculous.

            I take the key and slip it into the lock.  It unlocks with a turn of the knob.

            The edge of the door is grimy, the white paint darkened over the years by the hands of previous Shinigami.  The door sticks in the jamb a bit and it takes a good push to get it open.  I'll have to file that down.

            Inside, everything smells musty with disuse.  I'll have to air it out.   The floorboards squeak maniacally.  I'll need nails, I think.  And some rugs, perhaps, to cover up the odd stains.  I'd wonder about what left the stains, but these days I think it's best not to worry. 

            Just move forward, Kazutaka.  It's all right.  

            I turn on the light.  It's a dull yellow-orange glow that buzzes abominably.  I'll have to get a better light bulb. 

            The paint is peeling and chipped at the corners of the apartment.  It's tiny, with a little kitchen.  Fortunately there are appliances, a refrigerator and a stove, though they look to be nearly as old as Tsuzuki-san.  Some compassionate soul has left a glass cup full of mismatched wooden matches and matchbooks to light the range.

            How thoughtful.

            There's one bedroom and a bath, everything old and worn but serviceable.  All of it's surprisingly clean given that it doesn't seem to have been given anything more than a passing patch-up here and there where holes have been knocked into the walls by unseen forces, or the glass cracked from mysterious power surges.

            I can only imagine.

            I look around with a sigh.  So dreary.  It's worse than my student days.

            It's strangely very, very empty, and not just because of the lack of furnishings.  I open the wooden blinds; they creak and one breaks, but eventually I tease them open.  The window's not going to open, not without a small pickaxe to chip away at the built-up paint on the mechanism.  Sunlight streams in, leaving lines of light in horizontal bars across the warped floor.

            I sit.  There's nothing else to do, really.

            The light moves slowly across the floor as the sun goes down.  I remember I used to dream about this sort of silence, where I hear almost nothing but the faint drips of the sink.  Ah, a wrench.  I'll need a wrench, I think.  

            I used to dream about this sort of solitude.  I think I had always thought I wanted it, running from my life.  From my unobtrusive secretary to the friend who smiles and looks away…I've always been seeking this silence around me.

            But when I have it now, it merely leaves me cold.

            When I have it now…it's rather boring.

            Oddly…it's a strange feeling…Silly.  I'd laugh at myself if the neighbors wouldn't think that I was wholly mad.

            I must admit that I miss Terazuma's house.  The man's casual suspicion appears to have grown on me.  And Wakaba, the fact that from the beginning, even knowing what she knew of my previous life, she has never been afraid.

            Quite the contrary.

            With that, I lie back down on the floorboards.  It's dustier than I thought earlier, but I don't really care.  It's been a long day.  Perhaps I'll take a nap.  There are those that say it's good to sleep on a hard surface.  Oriya would tell me that it builds character.  Or at least, that it is good for my back.

            It's warm in here; the late afternoon sun heats this apartment up wonderfully.  I assume that it means that once it's summer, it will be a stifling oven.  I turn my head to the side.

            A bent nail lies on the floor just past the fingertips of my left hand.  I stretch my hand out and touch it.  It wobbles against the wooden floor before coming to a stop.

            Idle thoughts.  No, not Saki.  Don't think of him.  Ukyou…no, not her either.   

            I just want to rest for a moment.  Just for now.

            I doze off to the thought of borrowing a hammer.  Fix the floorboards.  New glass for the window.  A bed of some sort.

            Some time later, I wake up with a start.  It's full dark outside, but the light's on above my head.  Something's amiss.  I sit up, aching from the floor, but it fades quickly.  Shinigami.  Ah yes, that's right.  A flood of memories, and I'm slumped against the floor again.  

            My breath hisses between my teeth.  Is it always going to be this way, in that moment I wake up alone - that fear, that pain...that loss.  

            Tears tremble in my eyes for just a moment.  Foolish, so foolish.  I could have had him and…

            And what?  And possibly lose Ukyou? 

            Forever.

            Let this madman wait for you forever.  I whisper it to myself.  I have to believe that you're still in there, Ukyou.  I must believe this, because if the opposite is true, if there is nothing for you anymore than child-like wobbles while your nurse follows you around, then there really is nothing more left for me.

            Then there really is no other reason for me not to continue, to move on into the true death from which there is no return.

            Let that second chance go to someone else.  I stare at my hand.  It grasps absently, as if it could touch someone.

            As if it could touch you.

            If only I could give you my second chance, Ukyou.  You deserve it more than I do.  You should be the one that cannot be hurt anymore.

            But even as I say that I know it's not true.  I might be strong, and I might heal instantly.  But the pain's never really left me.  Sometimes it feels like it never will.

            "Ukyou."  I whisper it to the walls.  "Tell me, what should I do?"

            There is, of course, no answer.  There hasn't been an answer for over a decade.

            Merely silence and those beautiful dark eyes that watch me with the bland curiosity of a child looking at an insect.  They stopped seeing me a long time ago.

            I would be content to stay here like this.  Lying on the floor with the bare light bulb overhead that buzzes and crackles with fizzling energy.  Perhaps I'll become as Tsuzuki-san once was if I stay here long enough, not sleeping, not eating, not drinking; merely dreaming of a lost past that flutters just beyond the window.

            But then, there's a knock on the door.

             I sit up.  That's quite odd.

            Another knock.  Tentative, as if uncertain of its purpose.  

            Then a few hard bangs.  I blink.

            I open the door.

            It's the boy.  Tsuzuki-san is with him, like a tall black shadow just behind his slim shoulders.

            And he's got a chair.

            "Hey."  Stray strands of unruly wheat-blonde hair slip over his green eyes.  His slender hands rest on the smooth dark wooden back.  "Do you need a chair?"

The end.   Epilogue to follow.

Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei belongs to Matsushita Yoko.

Author's notes and thanks:  One more little chapter!  It'll be an epilogue that will try to follow up with everyone and tie up a few last remaining questions.  A great thanks to my prereaders: RubyD, DanceswithElvis, Cyrus Marriner (though he's been gone for the last few chapters), Aeanagwen, Jekka, and Rinoa.  Thank you guys so very much for all your support and insight!  Special thanks to Aeanagwen who does all that and more by also proofreading it and helping my chapters make sense.  And an extra special thanks to RubyD who has followed this fic from the very beginning and introduced me to the Yami fandom.  Though the help of all my prereaders have been invaluable in making this fic a reality, it is especially true for RubyD.   Thank you all for being wonderful sources Yami trivia, for putting up with me for this long, for holding my hand through the rough patches, and for encouraging me to finish.  I couldn't have done it without all of you.  ^_^

Points to anyone who recognizes the name of Watari's Ofuda Cannon.  ^_-  If you're wondering why Terazuma can now touch Wakaba, it's because previously his control over his Shikigami was compromised by his guilt over the loss of his sister which unconsciously prevented him from being able to pursue any sort of relationship with any other girl.  Now that he's dealt with it, the control comes naturally.  Why doesn't he say so in the fic?  Terazuma's not very much into this psychology mumbo-jumbo.  Or so he says.  

Tatsumi took his time having his team find Saki, mainly because they had already been pushed to the limits.  He believes in making sure people rest and are at their peak or close to it when engaging in combat – he knows that fatigue can cause lapses of judgment and critical errors.  The use of the shadow impaling to stop Saki from teleporting is an idea borrowed from Penny Paperbrain's "White Knight," which I recommend wholeheartedly.

Why does the apartment take so long to process if it belongs to EnmaCho?  Part of it's because it's better to have the new Shinigami watched over by his or her mentor from the beginning, but mostly it's because of paperwork.  These things are funneled through different layers of bureaucracy that slow things down.  Plus, it takes time for the interdepartmental mail to go through.  The reason that Tatsumi lives so close to the new Shinigami quarters is because many years ago, someone was asked to volunteer to live in a house close to the apartment block in case of emergencies with new Shinigamis that are unused to their powers.  Since it also meant discounted rent, Tatsumi was the first to sign up.  As new Shinigamis appear very infrequently and Tatsumi's shadow powers can easily stop nearly anyone from causing trouble, Tatsumi thinks of it as a bargain. ^_^

A little background on Muraki's finances: Muraki had a few years of living as a poor student, after his parents died.  At the time, his grandfather's younger brother was holding his inheritance in trust until he turned 20.  His school fees, books, and supplies were guaranteed and he was given a small allowance for food and housing.  This was his relative's attempt at building character, feeling that Muraki was too sheltered as a child.  Of course, that was the last living relative, who died peacefully of old age some years later.  So he does know how to budget himself – but he also knows that it's important to spend where it counts.  ^_-

I tried to tie things up thematically as well as close up some plot threads.  Honestly, I don't think it came out as good as some of the previous chapters and it deviated a lot from my original idea, but as they say, there are always author-revised versions.  ^_^

The original idea involved an Enma-centered mystery and multiple teams of Shinigami working together to try to solve it as Enma's actions precipitated a crisis in Meifu.  I don't really have plans for continuing First Death (though I did think of a story idea, fear), but theoretically, there is a way of continuing it that segues into the Enma storyline.  Aeanagwen suggested giving an alternate ending that shows the Enma side of things – I may or may not do it.

Unfortunately, I don't really want to spend more time in this world, and would rather move onto other projects.  I think the last few chapters have suffered because of this; it has been extremely difficult writing since about chapter 7 or so.  But just know that somewhere in the First Death world, they're still working, solving crimes, and having fun.  Oh, and beating up on Muraki.  Mustn't forget that.

I never thought I'd make it this far.  But I thank all of you for following this story with me and being patient with me.  I've made a lot of great friends through this and wouldn't trade it for the world.  Thank you very much.

EAG

Notes for Omake and Side story:  The side story was originally posted a few months ago on my website, so I included it on this version in case anyone missed it.  Please feel free to skip to the bottom for this chapter's side story if you've already seen the omake, since nothing's changed.  It's just a little fun romp in Kokakurou, some of it referring back to the chapter 2 omake.

Omake 

            A current owner.

            A former secretary.

            A jar of saké.

The Drinking Game

            It took a while to get the knots right, but then, Oriya has a lot of experience.

            "Thank you very much for your assistance, Mibu-san," Tatsumi bows his head gracefully as he sits across from Oriya, palms flat on the tatami mat floor.

            "Not at all," Oriya says smoothly, his emptied long-stemmed _kiseru_ pipe in one hand.  The folds of his kimono spread around him like the petals of some exotic bloom, ever more strange for it being found in winter.  It is indigo shot through with silver threads in a thick weave, ideal for winter if one stays indoors.

            "Yet without your assistance, our work would be that much harder," Tatsumi says, as shadows pool before him.  He dips his hands into the seething black mass, and pulls out a clay-sealed jar.  "Please let me give you a gift, as a token of my esteem."

            Oriya raises an eyebrow.  "Saké?"  

            Tatsumi nods.  "Only the finest.  Do you recall the story of the famous brewer whose devotion was so strong that his ghost is said to be still brewing saké?  Well, he lives down the street from me, in Meifu." 

            "Ah," Oriya says, a sound of anticipation and pleasant surprise.  "Your gift will be greatly appreciated.  Would you care to join me then?  Saké is best with company."

            "I would be honored," Tatsumi says as Oriya finds the cups and begins preparing to serve.

            "…and this, I tell you, is why I could not stand him at first."  Tatsumi's lips quirk in a little hint of a smile and he pours Oriya another round.  "Terrible!  He was wearing the suit I had ordered for myself.  It was a custom job – specially ordered, and there he was, cool as a cucumber, and I was short the cost of the fabric, which I had bought for myself from a well-established fabric wholesaler - at discount, of course."

            "He has a bad habit of taking the best," Oriya agrees, pouring for Tatsumi, who downs the saucer-like cup in one long gulp.  "He was a terror when we were younger."

            "Speaking of terrors, have you met Terazuma-san?  Muraki may not fear God or man, but amazingly, Terazuma makes him pause.  I've heard that Terazuma may or may not have tried to eat him in Shikigami form."  Tatsumi leans back against the frame of the closed door.  The jug's nearly gone – it was very good saké.

            "I'm sure Muraki would have given him something to chew on," Oriya says with a wry smile.  "At the very least, it would be indigestion."

            "Ha!  I can imagine it," Tatsumi says, flushed with drink as he stares at the floor, which seems a lot wobblier than it was before.  "Oh, the saké is very good…I would have eaten something earlier if I had thought of it..."

            Oriya moves to lie down on the tatami floor, reclining like an elegant panther as his silk sleeves spill around him.  "That would have been far too sensible."

            "Yes, but it's what I am.  Sensible."  Tatsumi smiles, quite genuinely finding this very amusing right now.

            "You shouldn't be so sensible always.  Be mad once in a while," Oriya suggests.

            It seems like such a wicked thing to consider, Tatsumi thinks, as he savors the aromatic flavor of the saké in his mouth.  Alcohol fumes from heating the drink still linger in the air.  

            Instead, Tatsumi asks, "Is Kokakurou specially heated, or is it the wine?  It seems rather hot in here, and it's the middle of winter."

            "It's heated," Oriya replies.  "The guests would be terribly cold in the winter if that wasn't the case.  The system's based on an ancient Roman style of heating through the floors – less obtrusive than vents.  If you like, you may open the door."  

            Tatsumi pushes open the sliding paper door, and a sliver of cold air wafts its way into the room, deliciously icy with the breath of winter.  Outside, snow veils the world from view, gracefully fat snowflakes flurrying down from the dark gray sky.

            "Vents would definitely destroy the atmosphere," Tatsumi replies as he works at worrying off his coat.  He frowns minutely and tugs; mind seemingly fogged up with incomprehension at the simplicity of the cut of fabric wrapped around him.

            "Yes.  And vents wouldn't allow you to do mad things such as open the door in the middle of winter just to watch the snow fall while staying warm.  It would lose too much heat that way.  Ah, here."  Oriya shifts to half-sit up.  

            Suddenly, and much to Tatsumi's surprise, gentle but steady hands are helping him out of his coat, and, before long, he's lying down, using his neatly folded coat beneath his head as a pillow.

            "Thank you, Mibu-san," Tatsumi says, feeling the floor pleasantly warm beneath him as the cold winter air sneaks into the room.  It's utterly decadent, letting the winter's chill trickle in even as the heat is on.  If it was Tatsumi's own place, he wouldn't allow such waste, but here he is, pleasantly drunk and enjoying it far too much for his own good.  _Be mad_, a depraved little voice says inside of Tatsumi.  _You needn't be the sensible one in a place like this_. 

            "Not at all," Oriya replies.  "Mibu-san sounds far too like my father, Shinigami-san.  Please call me Oriya."

            "Oriya."  Tatsumi tries the word out in his mouth.  Surprisingly, it's as lovely to say as its owner is to watch.  "Then please, none of this 'Shinigami-san.'  Call me Tatsumi.  Or Seiichirou, if you prefer."  Tatsumi feels a little perverse thrill at the thought of being called by his given name by someone who is mostly a stranger still.

            "Seiichirou?"  Oriya says thoughtfully.  "You know, his little secretary has the same name."

            "A coincidence," Tatsumi replies.  "I hadn't thought of it before."

            "Tatsumi then?"  Oriya says.  "Two Seiichirous would be confusing."

            "Mmm, that's fine."  Tatsumi closes his eyes, feeling too lazy to open them.  "Everyone calls me Tatsumi."  Safe, once more, in routine.  Tatsumi almost feels a little disappointed.

            "Tatsumi."  

            There's a long pleasant stillness as the winter wind slips into the room with frozen fingers, playing along Tatsumi's hair while the heat of the floor keeps him comfortable.  Relaxed, Tatsumi can feel the threads of shadow all around him, the quiver of the papers on the desk as they rustle minutely in the draft, the sturdy lengths beneath the ceiling beams and the brittle black lines left in each pane of the paneled door.

            And then, there's Oriya, whose languid shadow slides almost sensuously along the floor as it draws…near?

            Tatsumi nearly collides with Oriya as he moves to sit up, his eyes blinking open as a surprisingly soft pair of lips meets his in the beginnings of a chaste kiss.  And like the swirl of drink in the tasting of wine (and with that flavor as well) Tatsumi's mouth parts just a little and the sweetness goes a bit deeper, smoother than anything he's had in a long time, and as intoxicating as all else.

            And it's over.  Tatsumi draws back, a little surprised, as Oriya's lips release him.  All this time, he hadn't noticed, but Oriya's arm had been supporting him, a firm pressure against the back of his shoulders. 

            "Madness."  Tatsumi's about to say more, but it's a question that he's already answered, the epiphany in his eyes giving them a particular unmatched hue of clarity.

            Oriya smiles.  "Now you understand."  Before Tatsumi can think, his lips have found Tatsumi's again, and Tatsumi stiffens under the contact, aware now as to what's going on.

            "Wait." Tatsumi pushes back and lifts a hand to his own lips, touching them as if burned.  "What are you doing?"

            "Think of it however you like." Oriya looks at him, amused, but with a hint of hunger in his eyes.  "The perverse predations of a yet another madman.  A thanks for the present that you brought me.  Or more simply, think of it as a moment of private madness on a solitary winter's afternoon."  Oriya pauses, and his arm tightens around Tatsumi's shoulder, pulling him closer.  "You needn't be sensible here.  Not with me."

            Tatsumi blinks, astonished and overwhelmed at what he's being offered.  He begins to try to disengage himself from that contact, to move away, just as his sense of formality takes hold, and he'll try to pretend that this isn't what it obviously is…

            "Excuse me.  I'm afraid, Oriya-san, that I may have…"

              And again, the lips press to his, slowly devouring him as if he's being drawn into another person's dream, another person's private reality.  Is it the madman's insensibility infecting him?  Tatsumi can feel his muscles tense unwittingly, but sometime, somewhere after that, it seems that between the drink and the kiss and the slip of silk against his fingers that are clutching Oriya, he's relaxing into something strange and forbidden that he hadn't thought possible before.

            "But…what about…" Tatsumi tries to get his breath back, to put himself in order, his hand moving up to straighten his now slightly fogged spectacles.

            "Don't mind him.  He's not watching, nor would he care.  He has other things to deal with besides us.  You deserve a moment's rest from that man," Oriya whispers into Tatsumi's ear, a tickling hot breath against his cool skin.

            "A moment's – rest…" In another context, that wouldn't make so much sense, but right now, it seems the most reasonable thing to do.   "What – do you want?"

            "A few heated kisses in frost-bound winter twilight?  I don't know," Oriya says with feigned ignorance, his voice sliding along Tatsumi's throat as his tongue tastes at Tatsumi's skin.  "Perhaps I am waiting to hear your answer.  What do you want, Seiichirou-san?"

            "Me?"  Tatsumi wonders when it was that he was last asked that question.

            "Who else?" Oriya's lips almost, almost tickle the sensitive skin of Tatsumi's neck as he bears Tatsumi down to the hot floor, somehow feeling hotter for the slick chill of silk against his hands.  A pair of hands (not his) worries at his tie, and a top button's undone, toyed with as casually and carelessly as the unknotting of a string that's tied for a promise around one's little finger.

            Dark, the lustrous shadows of Oriya work their way closer toward him, bringing Tatsumi against the edge of something dangerous, the press of a blade of desire rising somewhere deep inside, and he has a sudden shock of reality, of the world of reason and reliability, of sense and sanity.  He gently, carefully withdraws himself from Oriya's hands, in a conscientious manner that he hopes will not offend Oriya's sensibilities.

            Oriya then, noticing Tatsumi's reluctance, draws back.  The entire switch in tone has happened in a few seconds, the span between one breath and the other, and the situation is now firmly, Tatsumi feels, within control.

            It's as if it never happened.

            "Perhaps another time then," Oriya says softly, as he leans past Tatsumi to close the door, blocking the chill out.  

            "Thank you for your hospitality," Tatsumi says coolly, with little indication as to his feelings on the matter, as he gathers up his coat and unfurls it to slide himself back into his protective shell.

            "You're quite welcome.  Visit, if you like, in the future.  'Winter's long, and life's fleeting,'" Oriya says, quoting a piece of poetry that they both recognize.

            "'Yet still, the sakura blooms,'" Tatsumi responds, filling the last part of the lines.

            Oriya says nothing, and his eyes slide to the figure that they've been ignoring for the last while.

            Tatsumi nods his head again in thanks.  "I will be going now.  Thank you for handling my partner."

            "It's my pleasure," Oriya says, with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. 

            "I never knew you could subdue him so efficiently," Tatsumi says, as he finally acknowledges Muraki's presence.  Muraki is almost unrecognizable, completely out of his usual context, half-dressed and trussed with white cords into a highly awkward position, unconscious with his cheek flat against the tatami floor in a way that's bound to leave a mark later.

            "It wouldn't have worked as well if you hadn't knocked him out with your shadows first.  I don't think he saw it coming."

            "Well, he has been very troublesome.  How did Kurosaki-kun put it?  'Get your freak partner's hands off my partner before I call the Peace Division?'" Tatsumi quotes.  "He asked for my assistance in setting up a situation in which he could peaceably teach Muraki a lesson in manners.  It's good to know that I can come here for your assistance in such business."

             "You realize he won't be able to walk out by himself," Oriya mentions.  "Would you like help moving him?"

            "No, I'll be quite all right," Tatsumi says.  "But thank you for the offer."

            "There is one thing that I must ask before you leave," Oriya says.  "I've never seen rope this fine.  What is it?"

            "First grade silk rope corded through with women's hair from Kobayashi's Discount Kekkai Korner," Tatsumi says, pleased to be asked.  "Fifty percent off sale last season, and at already reduced prices, I bought it for a quarter of its original price.  I was saving it for a rainy day.  Or in this case…a snowy one."

            "Should I even ask what you require such ropes for?  Smooth to the touch, strong enough to endure, but made especially to bind a Shinigami?"  Oriya winks.

            "I'm sure it's purely for business purposes."  Tatsumi stands up and a shadow begins pooling underneath both himself and Muraki, verging on swallowing the two of them whole.  "Thank you for your help.  I'm sure Kurosaki-kun will appreciate that you wrapped the gift up for him."

            "Good bye, Tatsumi-san.  Please, once he's awake, ask Muraki if he remembers our college rope bondage club, and tell him to enjoy.  And do let me know about this promised 'asskicking.'  I'm curious to hear about the results."

            "Will do.  Ja."

            And with that, they're gone.

            "Don't think that I've forgiven you that easily, Muraki Kazutaka," Oriya says to himself as he busies with filling his _kiseru_ pipe.  "Because I'm no longer nineteen, and able to forgive you without the slightest hesitation.  Really, choosing your brother over me.  What were you thinking?"   Oriya shakes his head as he lights the tobacco and takes a puff, letting fragrant smoke fill the air.  "Although, now that I think about it, he did have such lovely broad hands…And the two of you together…"

            Oriya toes the door open with his foot, and the coiled curve of the white smoke is momentarily caught in the breeze, before being stolen by the winter wind.

Side story

Ukyou 

            "She isn't feeling well today."  The nurse is a sweet matronly type, wholly unimaginative, the kind that Tsuzuki could easily imagine baking cookies for her children.  She's enchanted with him – they all are, really.  Of course, Tsuzuki is used to this by now.

            "It's all right.  I'll just be here a moment."  Tsuzuki's come on a pretext – first he lied to his partner about getting a slice of pie up in Chijou.  Now he's lying about being sent by Muraki to check up on Ukyou. 

            For all he knew Muraki was dead.  The curse might not have faded on Hisoka, but he had felt the knife slip in, scraping along a rib, the lifeblood gushing out…

            It had taken him weeks to stop remembering the blood.  Even now, he can almost feel the splatter of…no.  He can't think like that.  Tsuzuki shakes his head.  Hisoka wouldn't like it.

            Then again, he doesn't like it either, but it doesn't mean that he can easily dismiss the memories.

            Finding Ukyou has been much easier than forgetting Muraki's blood.

            He walks into the little house.  It's pleasant and cozy; the walls are hung with cheerful paintings and pictures.  There's a walled garden in the back.  

            He walks by the mantel and flinches as something catches his attention.  It's a portrait framed in heavy silver.  He picks it up.

            He's never seen Muraki this young before.  Muraki looks to be in his early twenties.  He still has both of his eyes; he even has a different haircut, one that doesn't mask the right side of his face.  He's sitting with Ukyou in his lap, a vibrant young woman with her arms around his shoulders and long dark hair.  They're smiling at each other as if they're sharing a secret; their eyes focused upon each another, the camera forgotten.

            It's love.  They're in love.  Tsuzuki swallows.  He's never known that this side of Muraki existed.  Now he never will.  Pictures now are the only things that remain.

            In the picture, their fingers are twined together.  A promise.

            Tsuzuki sets the picture back down as if he's touched fire. 

            Fire.  And he left Muraki to burn.

            Tears tremble in his eyes.  He hated Muraki, but still, it was wrong to do it.  It was wrong, he didn't deserve…

            Tsuzuki shakes his head.  No.  Don't think like that.  Just…keep going.

            Keep walking forward.

            She's out in the garden, in a recliner that's been moved there for the purpose.  It's perhaps the last warm day in autumn; soon it will be too cold for this.  But there's a blanket tucked around her to protect her from the elements.

            Tsuzuki kneels down beside her.

            "Ukyou-san?"  His voice is soft.  She doesn't hear him, staring blindly ahead as falling leaves swirl around her.  She's beautiful, or would be if she weren't suffering so.  Bruised flesh along the hollows of her eyes as if she's haunted by something that no one else can see, the face of insomnia, of restless sleeplessness.  Her expression is pinched with a lingering fear that does not fade.  Tsuzuki wants to take that unseen pain away from her, and chase away the shadows for her so that she doesn't have to suffer so.

            But perhaps it's better this way.  Better that she doesn't know that the man she is promised to marry is dead by his hands.  If there was a future for her beyond these walls, he's destroyed it.  Tsuzuki's stomach knots with guilt.

            "It's me.  Tsuzuki Asato."  He's gentle, yet she doesn't hear him.  She's elsewhere, somewhere far away. 

            Tsuzuki recognizes that look.  Once, in a lucid moment, he had seen himself like that, staring blankly into a mirror.

            The glass was broken in the end, and he had used it to rip a gash in his right wrist.  He had smiled when the blood flowed.

            In the end it all returns to blood, doesn't it?

            Tsuzuki touches her hand.  It's cold.  He clasps it in his own.  "Ukyou-san?"

            Nothing.  But for her breathing, she could be dead, a doll that has no life of its own.  Her dark eyes, they don't see him or anyone else anymore.

            Tsuzuki stands up.  It has been a mistake to come here.

            He resolves to set this incident away from his mind.  As far as he's concerned, this never happened.

            As the nurse comes into the garden to offer this charming young man of the doctor's some cookies and a drink, he's already gone, disappeared like a wisp of smoke in the autumn air.  She makes sure that Ukyou's tucked in comfortably and goes back inside to clean, clucking to herself about the hastiness of youth, never mind that Tsuzuki would have had to scale a ten foot wall to leave without her noticing.

            After she's gone, Ukyou blinks, a momentary lapse of consciousness.  She moves her hand just a little where the Shinigami had touched her.  She looks at the fingers curiously as they close, as if to clasp another's hand.

            "Muraki?"  It's a whisper, drowned in the rasp of leaves that crackle against the pavement as a strong gust brushes them aside.

            No one notices this.  And soon, Ukyou doesn't either.


	11. Epilogue

Epilogue

**Muraki**

"K-Kurosaki-kun?" I blink, and look to the boy's partner. "Tsuzuki-san?" I must still be asleep.

There's a stunned and awkward silence.

"May we come in?" The boy's the first to recover from the shock. His fingers grip the arched back of the chair nervously.

"Of course." I look at them, wondering what brings them to the proverbial lion's den. Well, it's not quite so cushy yet, I suppose, but I'll find some bones to strew about the place. Can't quite let the reputation die down just yet.

A little thing such as death shouldn't slow me down. Of course, these are just words; merely theory. In reality, even though my body feels quite wonderful, I'm still tired. Very, very tired.

They bring the chair in and set it down in the middle of the room.

Oddly, it looks less empty now. Well, of course it does, there wasn't anything in here before…but now? There's something more to it than just an object filling a space.

"Someone mind giving me a hand up these stairs?" A familiar voice calls out from outside.

"Oh, there's the chief…" Tsuzuki slips away out the door, leaving the boy and me standing in the main room, studying each other.

I don't realize I'm staring until he looks away.

"Look," he begins. "I…"

"Ah! Here we go!" Tsuzuki's got an ofuda in one hand, and he's coaxing something over to him with his other.

I peek out the door, curious to see what he's bringing.

It's a couch. A very large, very flowery, very upholstered couch. It's as ugly as sin, but looks more than serviceable. The Chief of our division, Konoe, is waving to us from the other side of the couch – he's also got an ofuda in his hand.

I believe they're moving furniture with ofuda magic.

How very unconventional.

"A couch?"

"It's from the Chief!" Tsuzuki beams.

"Ah." I'm still confused.

"Yeah. It's tradition." The boy stares at his feet. "Everyone's supposed to bring you something useful you can use for your house. Everyone did it for me when I came here. I guess we were just the first."

"First?"

"Kazutakasaaaan!" A familiar voice calls out, peeping from behind the couch as Tsuzuki and Konoe maneuver the hulk of furniture through the door. "We're here!" It's Wakaba. Giggling, she ducks under the couch in through the doorway, a dustpan and broom in hand. "Mou, I was hoping we'd be first. But we're here!" She half twirls me around in excitement. "Isn't this exciting? Everyone's coming, even Yuma and Saya!"

"K-Kannuki! Don't leave me carrying everything!" A voice from outside. It's Terazuma.

"Sorry!" She skips back outside to help Terazuma. By this time the couch is in, and Tsuzuki and Konoe are half-collapsed on it, fanning themselves with their respective ofuda.

"Chief, this thing weighs a ton!"

"I moved this all the way here from my house by myself." The older man pants. "I'm getting too old for this."

"Don't leave it in the middle of the room like this. Move it against the wall," the boy directs. "And stop complaining, it's not like you had to even pick it up yourself."

"So mean!" Tsuzuki sniffles.

It's literally chaos. Oddly, it's not significantly different than the office. Just concentrated in a much smaller space.

Wakaba comes back in with Terazuma who's weighed down by several parcels. She starts opening them up for me.

"Here you go, Kazutaka-san! Towels, sheets, dishcloths, ooh, a table cloth, and here's some hand towels and pillow covers…We even brought you a few extra pillows, just in case!"

"Thank you, Wakaba-san." I smile. "This…you didn't have to do this."

"It's okay. These are all things that we don't use anymore." She throws her arms around my neck, giving me a hug. "Welcome to Meifu."

I return her embrace. Such a sweet girl. I'd almost consider courting her myself except…

Well, to start, those eyes of doom that swirl red behind her shoulder. As quickly as I can manage without seeming rude, I disentangle myself from her.

"Terazuma-san. What a pleasure to see you again," I manage awkwardly, offering my hand for a handshake.

He smiles at me toothily. There's more than a hint of a threat in that smile. He takes my hand, and whether it's by his own strength or strength augmented by his Shikigami's powers, his handshake crushes my fingers like a vise. "Glad to see you're getting set up, kid."

"Hajime." Wakaba elbows him. He nearly falls over. "Don't be mean."

"Ow! Okay, okay." He holds up some boxes. "We went digital last year, so I figured you could use a rice cooker. Got a hot water dispenser too."

"Thank you, Terazum-san." I take the boxes into the kitchen. Of course, there's no outlet. I'll have to run in electricity from the living room. Perhaps tomorrow I'll go buy an extension cord.

Behind them, Tsuzuki and Konoe are arguing about the alignment of the couch. There's some highly technical discussion of feng shui going on.

I wonder how anyone ever manages to get anything done around here.

And then, the doorbell rings. It's my partner.

"Tatsumi-san." I hurry to the door to let him in. "Please, come in."

Tatsumi enters, carrying a small potted plant. It's a fern. "Muraki-san." He hands it to me. The pot's still damp, and smells of fresh earth. It's been recently watered and droplets of water cling to the fragile fronds.

"Thank you, Tatsumi-san, it's quite a nice…"

"Please come with me," he says, walking past me toward the bedroom.

I nod and follow him.

He leaves the door open, looking around the room. It's stuffier in here than in the main room and in here too the windows are also stuck shut with paint. Absently, he gestures. A swirl of shadow slices away the paint on the latch and the window swings open gently. The night air is cool, slipping in through the window and chasing the musty odor away.

"It's been a long time since I lived here," Tatsumi says thoughtfully. "Still, very little has changed."

I nod. It would have never occurred to me that someone such as himself would have lived here, even in the past. I suppose that this must be standard housing for new Shinigami. It reminds me strongly of my own student days when such standard housing was provided to resident interns.

"I do have some things for you, but they were too heavy to carry." As he speaks, he gestures, and a pool of shadow begins to form in the center of the bedroom, a slowly widening vortex of black. With a tilt of his fingers, something begins to appear from the floor. Futons - old from the looks of the style of the fabric - but more than serviceable and immaculately clean. For their age, they're well tended; I can certainly see Tatsumi dragging them out twice a year to wash them and dust them out before carefully storing them back to where they belong.

"I've been meaning to give these away for a while, but someone else gave Kurosaki-kun a bed when he came," Tatsumi explains. "I've had a western-style bed for ages…" The way he trails off makes me think that there could be a story to this, but his expression changes. "In any case, I would like you to have these."

"Thank you, Tatsumi-san." I set the fern on the window ledge – I think it will be happy here. "This is more than…"

But he's already wandered out.

Out of sheer curiosity, I unfold one of the futons. Just as I suspect, it's more than big enough for two. I would have thought it was a single, given what I know of Tatsumi, but it's too large.

Well. Isn't that interesting. I save that tidbit of information for later and head back out to the living room.

While I was in the other room Watari arrived, bringing boxes of pots, pans, and dishes, carried by something he called a 'Tomu-Serubou #6.' Fortunately, it's managed not to break anything, and he's left it outside. I get called over to the kitchen where Watari and Wakaba are putting the dishes away. It appears that more than half of it is composed of chemistry glassware – beakers, Erlenmeyer flasks, graduated cylinders…and the memories I have of college chemistry courses with Oriya... Oh my.

"Ah, there you are! Was Tatsumi-san doing anything mean to you back there?" Wakaba winks.

I glance over at Tatsumi, who is raising a sardonic eyebrow. "No, not in the least," I reply.

"Then was it naughty?" She's practically sparkling.

"Definitely not." We both manage to say this at the same time. Damn him.

"He's given me some futons, that's all," I explain with a scowl.

"Oh, Tatsumi-san's bedding!" Wakaba squeaks. "I'm going to look!"

"Me too!" Watari and Wakaba head toward the bedroom. Tatsumi shakes his head.

"Is anyone else curious?" Tatsumi looks around the room, an eyebrow twitching with irritation. The chief nearly jumps as his shadow wavers when Tatsumi glares around the room, but apparently no one is going to comment. Tsuzuki and Hisoka glance at each other, as if wondering who should try to defuse the situation or perhaps, who should run for the door first.

Fortunately, that's when someone comes knocking on the front door.

"We're here!" Two girls? "And we brought dinner!"

"Food!" Tsuzuki leaps off of the couch and over to the girls. They happily hand him packages of takeout, chattering cheerily. To see that smile, it's quite refreshing. I can't help but smiling myself.

And then, they see me.

"Muraki-san, this is…" Tatsumi begins.

But before I can stutter out a greeting, they're on me like a pack of wild…well, wild young girls.

"Oooh, you're the newbie?" One says, walking around me curiously. This one has long, light brown hair tied into two loose locks.

"Wah, so cute! I can't believe you have hair this color…mou, it's so fine…I'm jealous!" Similar hair color, just a bit shorter in length and worn loose.

The two girls look at each other. "PINK HOUSE!"

"Pink House?" I blink. The name's familiar; it sounds like a brand of clothing. Perhaps, I think, I may have seen an advertisement somewhere back in Tokyo…

At that, Wakaba bounds out from the back bedroom. "Yuma-chan! Saya-chan! You made it!"

And then there are three…oof, they've knocked me over.

"A-assistance, please? Tatsumi-sa…help!"

After that, it's all a blur of pink.

**Terazuma**

The first thing he does after they leave is light up a cigarette. It's a tiny burst of flame in the darkness. Above, the moon is nearly full; only two more nights, Terazuma thinks. He takes a relieved puff; they weren't allowed to smoke inside - Tatsumi's orders - but now that he's managed to extract himself from that deathtrap of girls inappropriately throwing themselves at him to see if they could set off his old reaction, everything is a lot better.

Normally, he would be in a worse mood. After all, he barely got any sleep last night, and has spent almost a full day either chasing or being chased after. But oddly, right now, things are not too bad.

Especially since his free hand is clasping Wakaba's.

For a little while they talk about the events of the evening, about how Yuma and Saya are in town for the week with bi-annual reports, about how the girls managed to get braids in Muraki's hair, about what to do now that Muraki's moved out on his own (Terazuma suggests getting a cat. Wakaba loves this idea.).

But the conversation quickly runs out. The night is too beautiful to mar with idle chatter.

Together, they walk home, silently admiring the cast of the bright moonlight. He makes sure his long strides don't leave her behind. At some point, his cigarette's discarded, left to fade out by itself in the cool night air.

"Ne, Hajime-chan." They're almost home, but she stops beneath the shade of a tall tree. Between the dappled moonlit shadows, a cold white light shines on her face.

"Yeah?" Terazuma half-turns to face her.

"I…I was wondering…" Wakaba turns her head, looking away from him.

Terazuma cringes inside, his fingers getting nervous and twitchy in her grasp. She tightens her hold on his hand.

"W-wondering?" Terazuma's voice cracks. Is it something weird? Why did things get weird? He's nearly trembling, and he doesn't know why. Not even when he regularly faces the monster inside of him would he be half as nervous as hearing her voice with that quiet, oddly sad tone.

"I…I just wanted to know what you're going to do, Hajime. Now that you've found your sister…You did say a long time ago that once you found her then you'd…you know."

"I said what?" Terazuma blinks. He doesn't remember what she's talking about. "What did I say?"

Wakaba's other hand moves to enclose his. "That…once you found out she was all right…that you'd quit."

"Why would I say something so stupi…oh." Terazuma remembers now. It had been early on, when the Shikigami was really a raging beast behind his eyes, before he had learned control and stability. It had been before the archery and the meditation and that mismatched orange eye that glowed fiercely as it came sailing through the air toward him, the icy burn of the ofuda slicing through the transformation…

Wakaba's fingers are cold and shaky.

"Kannuki…Things changed since then." Terazuma begins, awkwardly patting their entwined fingers with his free hand. "I'm not leaving anytime soon. Even though…even though I found Izumi," and it hurts to say it, such a good pain that for a moment, he chokes on the words, "even though I have her back…I'm not completely finished with what's tying me to the world."

"Is…does that mean there's something else?" Wakaba's voice is nearly a whisper, but he can hear it so clearly.

"Yeah." He's glad it's dark so she can't see him blush because he's all shades of red tied up into one. "You." He feels like he's going to melt into a puddle of goo. And oddly, that doesn't feel bad.

"Oh!" And there she goes too, flushed pink. "Hajime-chan!" She embraces him.

And for once, he's not flailing.

**Hisoka**

"Ow." Muraki winces.

"Don't move, idiot." I'm picking out the braids from his hair. For some reason, the girls (and oh, thank goodness that they've found a new victim to torment, because these last three years have been hell) decided that Muraki's hair was just long enough to look good in little braids.

I'd leave him to his misery, but I actually feel kind of bad for him. After all, most they've ever done to my hair was something involving sparkly hair clips and a lot of gel that I'd rather never think of again. Him…he looks like some sort of small frippy dog that has been attacked by an equally frippy stylist.

I think it's the multicolored bows. Something about them in that silver-pale hair makes me feel something that may resemble pity. It's amazing what those girls travel with.

Anyhow, everyone's basically gone except for Tatsumi, Tsuzuki, and me. Oh, and Muraki, because this is where he's living.

Now that I think about it, I stayed here for about a month or so before I moved on up to the little house I'm renting. Not this exact apartment, of course, but the one on the opposite side of the hallway. I guess every Shinigami's stayed in this building at one time or another.

"Ow!" Muraki scowls when I tug at a particularly tricky braid. "If you can't do it properly, just cut off the…"

"Idiot!" Unthinkingly, I whack him once upside the head. "I told you to sit still!"

I really hate squirmy ukes.

And I just realized I smacked Muraki. Well, how about that?

He's about to say something in retort, but then I can feel the heat of Tsuzuki and Tatsumi's glares as they burn a hole through me toward Muraki.

"Ah…of course…senpai." He sits still, wincing as I untangle his hair, none-too-gently.

There's just something about seeing him suffer through such indignities that makes me almost want to smile.

Ten minutes of meticulous unbraiding later, Muraki's nearly got tears in his eyes from the pain. It's worth the little tweaks of empathic pain to see the look on his face.

I think I'm going to hell. Oh wait, already there, sort of. Though really, it's just Meifu.

"There." I give the freed strand of hair a final tug. "You're all set."

"Damnit, did you really have to…" And there go the glares again. "Lovely job, Kurosaki-kun." Muraki scowls as if he'd kill me right here and be done with it, if he could.

"You know _Sensei_," I drawl, pulling out the syllables of his title. "If your hair had been left braided, it would have come out crimped and curly in the morning. Maybe even poofy."

At that, he scowls. "Of course…again, I greatly appreciate your effort." Insincerity drips from his voice.

"Hey, so I bet it's time to go home and sleep." An abrupt subject change, and I turn to Tsuzuki. "Ready to go?"

"Sure!" Tsuzuki smiles brightly, the relief coming off of him as palpable as a held breath exhaled. The last few hours in Muraki's apartment has left him on edge; I can feel that tiny bit of tension as he walks past Muraki. Muraki watches him thoughtfully. I'd take a peek just out of curiosity, but I'm staying out of people's heads for now. I need to spend more time in my own head. "It's getting late. Good luck, Muraki."

Funny, I think that's the first time I've heard him say something to Muraki that didn't involve threats. I guess things have changed a lot. Tsuzuki steps out into the entry. I follow.

"Thank you for the chair, Kurosaki-kun." Muraki's eyes hold a touch of amusement. "I shall be sure to…"

"Ah, just a moment!" Tsuzuki bounds back to the doorway. "I almost forgot."

"Eh?" Muraki tilts his head. The image of a good-night kiss comes leaping forward to his mind so strongly that I can't help but pick up on it.

I don't know whether I should hit Muraki or kick him. I grit my teeth and glare.

Tsuzuki, almost as if unconsciously sensing predatory intent, takes a little step back. "Uh, well, that is…" He turns red. "Oh…r-right. Here. This is for you."

He slips a hand into his coat, and pulls out a little flat rectangular package. It's wrapped in printer paper and stuck together with a mess of tape.

"Thank you?" Muraki blinks.

"Go ahead, open it." Tsuzuki smiles. Smiles like that are hard to resist. I know it from personal experience.

Muraki tugs at the package, meaning to open it delicately without tearing too much paper, but in the end, he's forced to rip through the paper as it's been bound with a hodgepodge of adhesives.

"A frame." He holds up the empty picture frame, studying the dark wood thoughtfully before turning his eyes onto Tsuzuki. I'm a little curious myself; Tsuzuki had brought me bedding when I came to Meifu…

"Ah, it's for you and Tatsumi. I mean…uh, when you take your picture together for the department reference, they usually also give you copies too so that's the size that the pictures come in and I thought you might want one for yourself but I didn't have anything I could give you so I bought this at the store the other day and…"

…And he's babbling. I give him a nudge with my elbow.

"'Night Tatsumi. 'Night, Muraki." I yank Tsuzuki's arm, dragging off before he does any serious verbal damage.

Tsuzuki gives a half-hearted wave over his shoulder as he's gratefully pulled away.

We walk in silence until we're a few blocks away from Muraki's apartment. The moon is beautiful tonight, and for the first time since that night in Nagasaki, that doesn't make me afraid or uneasy.

It's cool and white, just the way it should be.

Tsuzuki slips his arm around my shoulders. "Tired?"

"Yeah. Exhausted. I should probably go home." I lean against him.

"Do you…" And he flushes hotter than he ever would have with Muraki. I can feel the edge of anticipation in him, a heat that would be mysterious if my own feelings weren't already answering his. I can feel my pulse quicken.

"No." And sudden defeat. "I don't mean, er…I mean…L-let's…let's go to mine instead…it's closer." His emotional reaction leaves me blushing hard.

His arm is warm against my shoulders. I lean toward him, taking a breath, smelling whatever makes him Tsuzuki.

"Ew." I wrinkle my nose, drawing back a little. "You're all stinky."

"Only because I worked hard today," Tsuzuki says, amused. "We could take a bath together and fix that."

"O-oh…right. S-sure." Red. How could I have forgotten that? Half a day and already it feels like something that happened more than ten years ago, to someone else. Though to be accurate, in some ways it really was far in the past, all the time I spent with Saki. Er…as Saki, more like it.

"Thanks for saving me, Tsuzuki."

"You shouldn't thank me, Hisoka." Tsuzuki lets me go, walking dejectedly, shoulders slumped. "Muraki's the one that saved your life. Tatsumi, him, and the others. I just screwed things up."

I take a breath, trying to decide what to do or say.

"Tsuzuki." Intentionally, I make my tone a lot colder and angrier than it would normally sound.

"W-what?"

"IDIOT!" I whack him over the shoulders. "It's not your fault! You couldn't have known what would happen, moron! No one knew that Saki would get messed up and crazy, so stop being so negative!"

"H-Hiso…"

"So stop being such a dork! I know you'd never let me go with…without a fight." And now my eyes are tearing up. It hurts to say it. It really does because when the words come out, they're tinged with the memories of all the loneliness and painful isolation. Teeth clenched, fists balled, I stare at the ground, trembling, trying to make the words come out in a comprehensible manner, but they keep choking in my throat. "I kn-know…how much you care. Y-you wouldn't…ever…give up for..."

"No." His arms are around me before I can register his movement. He can move faster than anyone I know. They draw me to him tight and for a moment, it's as if we're floating, the heat of his emotions wrapping around me, keeping me safe, hiding me forever from the ice inside myself. "I wouldn't ever..." His words are choked in a sob. Then the sharp churn of guilt, his pain, and it all begins to make sense that he was afraid that it was his fault that I had been lost, that it was his doing that caused me to disappear into the dark Kyoto night.

"Idiot…I know. I know." My arms tighten around him. "So…stop feeling so guilty. I know you…I know you care for me."

"No. Not just that." The guilt's replaced by something else, something warmer and enfolding and it feels like everything is just…right. I cling to him as if he's the only thing that gives stability to this life. Pieces fall together, like the twining of his fingers and mine, our hair intermingling in our close proximity; the falling contrast of light and dark and it's a rightness that moves beyond language.

Let touch be enough for now. There are no more words to say it.

"I love you, Hisoka." He says it so quietly that it's a whisper that gives his emotions voice.

I have no way of making my lips work properly, so I let him touch that sea of feelings within me, water that unfolds into sky like the touch of a dream.

I can only hope that it's enough.

Please let it be enough for now, because I…I don't know what else to do. I don't know what else to say.

No one's ever told me that they loved me. Not…not until now.

We embrace under the pale moonlight. He kisses me carefully on the lips, a promise. Then, without looking back, we go home.

**Muraki**

"So I entered all the data from Saki's tests into the Compendium, and you know, it got red-flagged by Enma's office and – Tatsumi!" Watari catches us as we enter the office together, looking a little worse for the wear this morning. "A little birdie told me that you didn't go home last night. Did something happen between you and your new partner?" He gives Tatsumi a lascivious wink.

Wakaba bounces up from behind Watari. "Ne, ne! Did Tatsumi-san and Kazutaka-san…" She blushes a lovely pink. "Eee! I'm too embarrassed to say it!"

"No, Tatsumi-san did nothing of the sort," Tatsumi says swiftly, before I manage to add in any observations of my own. "I was merely helping my partner clean his apartment, but we lost track of time and stayed up too late doing it." Such a neat answer.

"Besides," I add, smirking at Wakaba. "I would never betray Tatsumi-san's confidence in such matters. If anything were to happen…I'm sure I would keep it purely a secret."

Wakaba squeaks, "Eee! Secret romance!" She runs off to confer her wild speculations with her cohorts from last night. In the distance I can hear squeals of girlish laughter, and something about that gives me a chill, just a little.

"Well, Tatsumi?" Watari grins at Tatsumi conspiratorially. "You can tell me." Tatsumi's blue eyes turn cold. They're very expressive despite the fact that he keeps his emotions close to him.

"It was just as I stated." Tatsumi's voice is clipped. "Time for work, everyone. You're not being paid to gawk at my private life." He stalks off to the general office.

"What about you?" Watari turns to me.

"What about me?" I adjust my glasses coolly.

"Any hints?"

"Last night? It was…quite…" I smile with that expression I know is tainted with seduction, drawing out the words, enjoying the anticipation "…as he described it. We cleaned all night." I can feel the side of my mouth rise in a smirk.

"Aww, you two are no fun." Watari wanders off, leaving me by myself in the entry of EnmaCho headquarters.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I say softly to myself. "And even if something were to happen…I would surely keep it from the likes of you." Behind me the door opens, and I move to step aside for the swing of the door. Oddly, it doesn't open all the way, so I turn to see what's going on.

"Oops." Someone bumps into me, nearly knocking me over. "Sorry." But from the sound of his voice, there's not much apology to it.

"Ah, it's no problem." Tall, at least my height, plus or minus a few centimeters. On the thin side, but with broad shoulders, and a banner of black hair pulled back in a style over a century out of date. He wears traditional clothing; a very formal black kimono with a black haori, an empty space where clan crest should be, and a pair of swords belted at the waist.

And pale, blue-gray eyes.

"Are you a new employee?" He studies me intensely, from my mismatched eyes to my standard black suit (slightly dusty; it couldn't be helped – there is dust everywhere back in that rattrap) and gray tie. I can't determine his age, but he's a handsome beast, perhaps a little younger than me or perhaps a little older. It's difficult to tell with Shinigami. I wonder if he's another division's Shinigami, one of the many that I have yet to meet.

He hardly looks like an accountant. Though perhaps here it'd be fitting that they wear swords to work given the likely dangers of their job. After all, there is Tatsumi.

"Yes…Muraki Kazutaka." I extend my hand to him. He doesn't take it. "Are you…?"

"You're prettier than I imagined."

"Excuse me?" For a moment, I'm genuinely unbalanced.

"Never mind." He looks down the hall, as if expecting someone to come out. People from other departments walk past us, glancing and moving along quickly. As the diminutive figure of our summons division chief passes, the little man sees him and nearly has an apoplectic fit, scrambling down the hallway into his office.

What a rather odd reaction.

The strange man's gaze turns to mine. We stare for a long moment; I can sense the challenge. Pale eyes blank, he holds it longer than I would have imagined possible and I look away down the hall a little uncomfortably, wondering if the chief will return. Perhaps with reinforcements?

"Is there something on my face?" I say finally, when I realize he's still staring.

"Actually, yes. Your glasses. Let me see them." He extends his hand out to me, palm up.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," I say. I reach up to push my glasses up upon my face, and somehow miss, the tip of my middle finger meeting the bridge of my nose.

Now, that was rather odd. It appears that they're slipping off my face.

"Why?"

"Because they're mine. And to replace them is beyond my budget at this time." I reach up to take the offending eyewear by the frame with the tips of my fingers, but it slips out of my hand and off my face, clattering to the floor.

I'm sure that isn't normal.

He leans down and picks them up. "You should be more careful with them if they're expensive." Straightening, he hands me the glasses.

As I reach my hands out for them, they're in my grasp for just a moment before somehow sliding out again.

Clack. They hit the ground again, lens-side down.

I raise an eyebrow. The man moves to lean over again as if to pick them up.

"No need. I'll get it myself." In the back of my mind, I've got a spell prepared…it's nothing very dangerous, just something that would knock him back and give me enough time to draw a strong shield. Though I think there may be a rule about using powers in the main building; I seem to recall that was somewhere in the handbook…

I bend over to pick them up. When my fingers brush them, they go sliding along the floor. I wince, imagining the scratches.

"How very…irritating." I mutter to myself as the glasses go skittering off again without me, just beyond my reach. Chancing a glance, he's smiling to himself, enjoying a private joke. So very transparent of him.

"Who are you?" I straighten up, leaving the glasses where they are. He raises an eyebrow, as if a little surprised by my directness. "Are you another Shinigami?"

"Me? I'm not powerful enough to be a Shinigami." The sarcasm there is evident; one should have to be deaf and blind not to notice his condescension. "I just like to meet newcomers." When he smiles, there are teeth to it; something sharp and cold and vicious behind the eyes.

"I don't believe you. Who are you?" I scowl, glaring at this random interloper, wondering what could possess a stranger to be so irritating. Had he a personal grudge against me that I didn't know of? But it's impossible; by my guess based on his clothing and hairstyle, the man probably died long before my grandparents were born.

"I'm here to tell you to be careful." His gaze catches mine, unwavering. "Accidents…can happen at any time." A little twitch of his fingers, almost imperceptible, and my glasses slam into the wall by their own accord, shattering.

"Sato." Tatsumi's voice, tight with tension, and so close that I nearly start. Tatsumi steps forward, emerging beside me from my shadow.

Now, I hadn't known that he could do that with my shadow.

"Tatsumi." There's so much latent emotion buried in that one word that it explains everything right there.

"You'll restitute my partner for a pair of glasses. And please do not continue to harass any other member of the staff. You know better than that."

Sato, this strange man with the pale eyes, actually flinches at that, looking chagrined. Tatsumi's voice is cold enough to freeze and hard, clipped with rigid formality.

"How much were your glasses?" Tatsumi asks me.

I name a price; it's rather higher than what I really did pay and he knows this, as he was with me when I had them made. Tatsumi turns to Sato.

"Pay the man and leave, Sato." Tatsumi's eyes are steady, but his voice quavers on his name. Very interesting, the possibilities for amusement grow by the minute.

Sato's gaze meets his. I expect there to be some sort of squabble over this, but strangely there isn't. Sato relents, scowling.

"Fine. You'll have to come to my house. I don't carry that much cash."

And he's gone. It takes me a moment to register the movement; he had dropped into his own shadow, leaving no traces. Similar to Tatsumi's powers, I can't sense the workings of his ability either.

It's quite unsettling.

We stare at each other for a moment, as if both caught in an awkward and unexpectedly embarrassing revelation.

"If I didn't know better…" I brush my hair back a little, smiling sidewise at Tatsumi. "I would have thought that I had just walked into a lover's spat." I pause, catching his blue eyes, stormy with emotion. "Tatsumi-san, I didn't know I was the third wheel."

Tatsumi's hand clenches, and I take a step back, expecting a bolt of shadow to come slicing at me.

Instead, he does something rather unexpected.

"It…was a long time ago, Muraki-san." His voice is calm, oddly distant. "And very much over. If you value your health, I suggest that you stay away from him."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Because to my knowledge, he's been at least indirectly responsible for the deaths of other Shinigami, before I came to Meifu."

"I didn't think that such a thing would be allowed." I blink. Meifu must have been a much more different place in the past. I suppose their rulebook was far smaller.

"It isn't. Not anymore, not since Konoe took over. But his predecessors, as I understand it, believed in allowing more powerful members of the staff to weed out those that they thought were unsuitable for the job."

"Weed out? That seems rather unusually harsh."

"It was never official. It was just that there would occasionally be accidents. Accidents that people didn't walk away from, both here and in the field. Sometimes subtle, sometimes not. I think they were taking a chance on me, hoping that he would be less likely to kill a fellow shadow user."

"Then he was your partner."

"Correct."

"Tell me, Tatsumi-san." I brush my hair aside, just a little. "Is it customary for partners to take up extracurricular interests in each other?"

Tatsumi falters, looking strangely off-center. "If by that you mean friendship…then yes. I suppose it is. Why do you ask?"

"No reason." I turn to walk away. "But your eyes are beautiful when you're angry."

It's a wonder I'm not dead. But then, when I glance back to see if he is following, he's already gone.

**Tatsumi**

Sato's house is immaculately clean and not by design. It's clean because it's empty; an occasional painting, an occasional ceramic, and a few things here and there that he remembers buying for Sato when they were still partners. Otherwise, it's not dissimilar to how he found it the first time he was brought over to visit; a traditional house of middling size that for the most part lacked in furnishings and decoration.

Sato is very tense, gestures clipped and short, and when Tatsumi notices the tension, he notices that he himself is tense. Tatsumi frowns, and tries to relax as Sato leads him to a room that has functioned as an office for as long as Tatsumi has known him.

His black hair coils down his back, just as Tatsumi remembers. Tatsumi is uncomfortable with being here; it's the first time he's been in this place in decades.

Inside, there are little neat stacks of receipts; it seems that even after retiring from Summons Division, the old habit of keeping receipts is hard to break. Tatsumi glances at one; it's a bill for lunch at a ramen stand, four years ago.

It is an old habit that he had impressed on Sato long ago.

Sato pulls out a metal box. Tatsumi twitches. It's a bigger box than the one he remembers. This one at least has the decency of having a lock.

"Sato, I thought I told you to put that in a bank."

Sato unlocks it with a sliver of shadow, opens it, and starts counting out money for Tatsumi. There's more in there now, enough to make Tatsumi's eyes stretch.

"No one is stupid enough to steal from me."

And that was true; he had a reputation among the neighbors that went back as long as the man had lived in Meifu.

"But…interest…accumulates…" And he's distracted, trying to surreptitiously count how much is in there. Tatsumi stares; there's at least one stack of ten thousand-yen notes. No, two. Oh, three. He can feel his pulse quicken.

"If I want to make more money, I'll just go fishing." Sato fumbles the bills as he counts. Fishing. Tatsumi remembers watching him fish. Sato's method was to float over a body of water, and pull fish out by their shadows, ignoring the small ones. In the past, he had made arrangements with neighbors to exchange fresh fish for meals or housekeeping; these days, it must be more lucrative.

Suddenly, it explains the cheap grilled eel rice bowl restaurant down the street. Tatsumi considers never eating there again.

"Here, you count it for me. It's confusing." Sato pushes the box at Tatsumi, sitting back on his heels. There's a hint of a smile at the edge of Sato's lips, but Tatsumi chooses to ignore it.

Tatsumi's fingers twitch as he's given the box. It's not the first time he's handled Sato's money; it's just that fifty years of accumulation under the Tatsumi Seiichirou method has multiplied Sato's original savings significantly.

Neat and efficient. Neat and efficient. It becomes a silent mantra, as Tatsumi tries to mentally block out how much money must be in here by now.

"There. Twenty five thousand yen." Smallish bills, since it's difficult to break large bills in Meifu. Tatsumi makes a neat stack, and sets it down in front of him.

"What about a handling fee?" Sato takes a few bills and sets them down next to the money Tatsumi's counted out, in a little fan of money.

"Sato…" Tatsumi's lips purse, trying to hide his interest.

"And transportation? That costs extra too." Sato adds a few more, and as he leans forward, his black hair slips over his shoulder.

"Sato…"

"I hear in Chijou they pay armed guards to transport money. Do you think that deserves an additional fee?" Sato slides the money toward Tatsumi. What Sato's offering is more than fair. Tatsumi twitches, thinking it to be a bribe. Or maybe an apology.

"Sato. You can't do this." It takes all of Tatsumi's effort to say this, and he pushes the extra money back to Sato.

"No? It's my money." He looks obstinate, almost sulking as if his plans were thwarted, and Tatsumi almost, almost finds that charming for a moment.

"I don't mean that, Sato." Tatsumi sighs. "It's over. It's been over for a long time. You can't just leave and then suddenly expect that I'll want to be with you again, even if you do have a big…well, pile of money."

Sato's eyes gleam, determination set in his pale blue-grey eyes. Strangely, Tatsumi is reminded of his new partner, and he shivers, half-disgusted, pushing aside that mental image.

"I know money won't be enough, Seiichirou. I know that much about you. You wouldn't forgive anyone that did what I did for any amount of money. But." Sato's definitely trying to put a rein on his temper, and Tatsumi is pleasantly surprised at not hearing anything break around the house. "But you have to realize that I can't stand the thought of you having a new partner. Especially one that's so…"

"So evil?" Tatsumi guesses.

"So pretty." Sato twitches.

"What about Tsuzuki?" Tatsumi blinks.

"Oh, him." Sato shrugs, dismissing Tsuzuki's existence with an absent wave of his hand. "He's not serious competition."

"Why do you say that?" Tatsumi's blue eyes turn cold. "Did you expect that all this time you could leave me somewhere safe and have me back as soon as you changed your mind?"

"No." Sato scowls. "Well, yes. But…mostly because. Because…" And at this he's like a child, unwilling to meet Tatsumi's eyes.

"Because what?" Gently. Tatsumi can't help himself; it's not in his nature to turn away from someone who needs him.

"Because…you weren't happy. With me. And I couldn't make you happy. And…I couldn't keep you like that. I thought…maybe someone else..." Sato shrugged, unwilling or unable to continue. It was hard to tell with him.

"Sato…" All these years, and he finally explains himself. A long time ago Tatsumi had figured out why he had allowed Sato into his heart. At the time he was vulnerable; he had needed Sato, needed someone strong to guide him and hold him with a steady hand while he built a new life for himself in this strange land. And it was easy to let Sato in. Sato was a distraction from the fear, the unending guilt of the past and of Tatsumi's own crimes - murder and betrayal - and he needed someone to turn his attention away from his own problems. Someone who had their own set of problems that he could fix. That was Sato.

But he hadn't known what he was getting in to – he hadn't known that Sato's heavy-handed advances weren't the result of experience and confidence – it was from isolation and pure ignorance. He hadn't realized that Sato had lived a mostly empty existence, punctuated by officially sanctioned murder until Tatsumi entered his world. Tatsumi hadn't realized that in some ways, Sato was as damaged as he was, or perhaps even more. At least Tatsumi knew the face of his mother.

Tatsumi's eyes shut, trying to get himself under control as a flood of old memories, old emotions that he had thought dead or sealed away, come crashing around him.

/_"You make being alone hurt, Seiichirou. I don't remember it being like this before. Why?"/_

"Seiichirou. I'm sorry."

And those are words that Tatsumi had never thought he'd hear from Sato. His eyes; they're damp, just a little moisture…but no, he won't cry.

Tatsumi nods, a little tightly, trying to keep himself together. "I know."

"You don't have to forgive me. I just…" Sato frowns to himself, gesturing as if trying to get his words together, and Tatsumi remembers this, how he occasionally seemed to lose the ability to speak properly if he was upset, reminding him that Sato had only learned to speak after he entered Meifu, and had never learned to read very well at all.

/_Pages turning and Tatsumi reads from a book to him. They're sitting underneath a blossoming sakura tree, and Sato, lying down beside him, bats the shadows of the falling sakura away as he listens, so that no flowers land on Tatsumi's book./_

Tatsumi closes his eyes against the memories.

"I know, Sato. It's all right."

Sato makes no moves to touch him even though Tatsumi knows it's what he wants to do.

"Thank you for the money. I will be sure to deliver it to my partner."

"Seiichirou…" He's hurt, Tatsumi knows it. He can hear it in Sato's voice.

"Please…" Tatsumi takes a deep breath. "Just…give me some time to think this over, Sato. I'll come back to visit you sometime, I promise."

"All right."

It should be enough, just for now. Tatsumi stands up, a little shakily.

Sato doesn't make a move to touch him. Time, Tatsumi thinks, must have genuinely given the man some perspective. He looks at Sato, realizing that he must have taken Tatsumi's comments to him in the past to heart; to be more patient, to try to understand, to control his temper.

The thought that he has so much control over this man who in turn had so much control over him makes Tatsumi uneasy. He was hoping…hoping that it was dead; hoping that that part of his life was over forever, if nothing but for the fact that he didn't want to face it again.

"I'm sorry, Seiichirou."

And the words follow Tatsumi even after he's returned to the office to finish up the day.

**Hisoka**

There's something wrong. Something horribly, horribly wrong.

I wake up with a start, a little gasp of breath. Am I even in my bedroom? I stare at the sheets. Yes, it's my bedroom, down to the striped sheets. The light in my bedroom is different. It's dark.

The clock? The alarm clock?

I've overslept!

And and and…

"Nnnrgph." Tsuzuki's arm pulls me down, and a moment later I'm pressed against him. He's dead asleep; this is more automatic reflex than anything else. "Go back to sleep." At least, that's what I think he said, the words muffled against the pillow.

"Tsuzuki." I say softly, giving him a little shake. "Where's the alarm clock? Tsuzuki? TSUZUKI."

"Nnn?" Drowsily, he presses his face into my neck. "Broke it…too noisy." He does something with his lips and I nearly squeak.

"Tickl-Tsuzuki!" I flail as he plays his hot tongue over my skin, his warm breath spreading over my skin. I hadn't realized I was so cold, not until he licked me.

Then I realize why.

"Idiot, you stole the covers." I give him a little shove, sliding back under the bedding. It's hot compared to the chill air outside the bed, and I can feel my muscles relaxing, not realizing before that I was tense.

"Sorry, Hisoka." He says it so sweetly that I can't continue being mad. "Are you cold?"

"Mm-hmm." That doesn't mean I can't continue sulking. Honestly, who steals bedcovers like that? He's like a little kid sometimes.

"Can I make it up to you?" Tsuzuki purrs against my ear. "What if I warmed you up?"

At that, I can feel the heat suffuse my face. "Wh-what do you mean, idiot?"

He had nothing more to say, other than bring his lips to mine. It's a gentle, lingering kiss, charged with a sensual undertone from his feelings, like the ticklish fuzz on a peach overlaying its juicy interior.

"I…I…" Uh. Um. Er. Ah. Hi. Oh.

He moves, shifting his legs so that he's half-kneeling over me. "Is it all right?"

"Y-yeah." I pull him down for a firm kiss, drawing the tip of my tongue over his lips.

Needless to say, we were late to work.

Showered, a little sore in the legs, and over all feeling very good, I feel like a new person today. Tsuzuki's following along beside me, his happiness spilling over so brightly that it feels like I'm being tailed by a comet.

But comets are cold. It's more like having my own personal sun.

By the time we get in it's after lunch, but no one seems to care. Not even Tatsumi who's suspiciously absent. I guess it's a free day then, given what everyone's been doing for the last few days. Kind of like Christmas in October.

As we sit in the empty office side-to-side, fingers entwined, Tsuzuki tells me about last night. About Saki, and about his promise to Muraki. Another time, I would have been mad – I would have railed against Tsuzuki for making any dealings with the man; I would have suspected everything and anything, that there were devious plots behind all of it, that it was just a trap.

But it seems like another world. Another life. I've seen him, miserable and cold and lonely beneath the sakura, the imagined eyes of his dying mother staring out at him from beyond the world of the dead, fingers clutched firmly into his heart. I've seen him as a child, pale gray eyes teary with pain; a colorless mirror of myself, trapped in a locked room surrounded by dolls. I've felt the bone of his arm snap between another's hands as if it were my own.

Muraki is no longer the monster of my dreams. In truth, he might never have been.

More true, he's just a man. A fucked-up miserable excuse of a human being…but in the end, no more than that.

Tsuzuki tells me about Ukyou. Tsuzuki describes her as pretty; a girl that would be beautiful, had she not been sick. She was the girl that he found in a garden, pictures of a past life with Muraki scattered around a little house like the dead leaves in her yard. I can feel how much he hurts for her, I can see in his heart her empty eyes looking to the world around her, her real self trapped within her mind.

Sometimes I think that Tsuzuki's more of an empath than me.

And then, the most important part of Tsuzuki's deal with Muraki, the part that he had been keeping aside from me, holding back until he could explain all of the details.

"I told him you would help her." He says it so simply. It reminds me of how simple his heart is, and how great his capacity for love is, even if it benefits a man that for years he vehemently despised. "But you don't have to do anything if you don't want to. I'm just glad you're alive."

I think about it. I can't forgive Muraki. Even though we might have come to a certain strange balance, I probably never will. But…for Tsuzuki. For that girl that knows nothing of the harm her lover's caused.

It doesn't take me long to say yes. Tsuzuki smiles and pulls me into an embrace, holding me tight.

"Thank you."

He's wishing that he had known me a long time ago.

It's silly, because I wouldn't have been born yet.

Just outside of Kyoto, in a quiet suburb filled with charming little modern houses, is a life I've never known before. It's a world wholly without the heavy burden of history that came with all the places I've been surrounded by all my life. All the buildings here are new development, built in the last few years. These are primarily homes for young families, and we pass children playing on the streets, the scent of dinners cooking wafting out in the early evening breeze. I can already see Tsuzuki's eyes glaze over as we walk.

Terazuma walks beside Muraki, who is expressionless. I can tell Muraki's trying to hide something. He watches the children play, his lips tight and suddenly he turns the corner, quickening his step. His regret is unmistakenable. Tatsumi follows him, frowning. I suppose he's afraid that Muraki will go back to his old self more now, or maybe he's just worried for the kids running around here. It's hard to tell, because Tatsumi is keeping his feelings very tightly closed up.

When we arrive at the house, there are already people there ahead of us. I didn't know that Tatsumi had allowed this, but Oriya and Muraki's secretary are already at the house, speaking with Ukyou's caretaker. They both look tired, as if they've had a long day.

When we get to the door, everyone seems to defer to me, as if I'm the expert. Which I guess I am, now that I think about it. I glance at the caretaker and the little crowd around me, Shinigami and mortal, before asking Muraki for a little privacy.

He dismisses the caretaker; the others are left with tea and cookies in the living room. We go to a back bedroom where Ukyou is sitting.

Fragile. It's the only way I can describe her. Her hands are slender, and had they movement, they probably would have been graceful too. She is too thin; apparently she doesn't eat well, having little appetite. Even with the caretaker's help, nutritional additives are necessary to keep her well.

"I haven't known what to do for a long time." Muraki slips her hand between his, kneeling at her side, as if trying to keep her fingers warm. He only has eyes for her now. Had I known…that even someone like him could feel this sort of love…

"I want you to trust me with her for just a few minutes, Muraki." I say this softly, as if the stir of my words through the air would disturb her. "Go outside."

He nods, and stands up, letting her hand go, carefully placing it so that it rested slack on the bare wood of the armrest.

"Thank you." His eyes are unreadable, but his emotions are not.

After he leaves, I look around the room. It's a nice-sized bedroom, furnished beautifully with new furniture carved in a classical style. According to Muraki, he replaces it every year, hoping that the newness would leave no possible psychic imprints, no hints of trauma, just a clean sterility as if to ward off infection.

It also explains the house, why he chose a new home for her. It would have the least amount of psychic imprint; no previous owners meant no possible trauma soaked into the walls, no suffering.

But also no happiness, either.

He was keeping her here locked in glass and polished wood like a doll too fragile to live outside of a hermetically sealed container.

I pull up a chair and sit down next to her, grounding myself. To think of something that makes me happy, the image of sakura floating down around me as the sun shines past the leaves, into my eyes. Tsuzuki's at my side – he's chasing down the last crumbs in the bag of cookies, searching for an elusive chocolate chip.

There. He's got it. I smile, feeling his intense happiness at such a tiny morsel.

And so I close my eyes.

And I touch her hands.

I should be home for tea. This is what I say, except this is not really me. This is Ukyou.

Tea. I must be home for tea. Everything is a formless gray, a little blurry around the edges, the sky melding into ghost-trails of fog that slide around me, buildings and streets disappearing as I turn my head. People all around are just wisps that prove insubstantial when I brush against them them. They're not really here.

But that doesn't matter because I have him. And that makes me smile.

From my hand swings a handled paper bag. It crinkles as I walk. Inside is a pear-apple. I will peel and slice it, just for him. There's also a little chocolate cake. That's for me. He doesn't like cake with tea.

It's a surprise. Muraki doesn't know I'm coming home early. No…Kazutaka. He's told me to call him that. But I'll always secretly think of him as my darling Muraki-san.

Home. The thought makes us smile. Her, me…does it matter who I am anymore? Just knowing…that for once in what felt like such a long time…I have a home to return to. Just so long as I get there before it starts snowing.

He'll be pleased, I'm sure. He loves this fruit. The flesh is white, whiter than even he is, and far sweeter. He'll laugh if I say that. And so I will.

The buzz of the power lines above the streets hum like electric insects, drowning out the hum of faraway conversations.

Will he be pleased? Will he hold me with those hands that are cold and hurt and leave me with shivers, then suddenly warm to my fingers?

Will I see who he really is, but even still want more? Because he needs me more than anyone, because he loves me more than anyone. Because he understands…

Muraki, I want to be with you always. Please hurry home and we'll have tea. There's Darjeeling in the cupboard and the plain mug that I like and the fancy tea set that you bought for us and we can sit in the dark as it snows just like we used to when…

"Stop." We're both surprised. No, it's just her. It had taken me a while to ground myself, to separate myself from her thoughts, her feelings. Hisoka. I'm Hisoka. This tall, this blonde, this thin, these green eyes, these hands…

"Who are you?" She clutches her groceries, almost pitifully. As the world around her fades, she focuses in on me, an unsightly splotch of color amidst the swirling gray.

"Hisoka."

"A secret…" She says this carefully, thoughtfully. "Are you my son then?" She smiles, reaching her arms out to me, drawing me close. She's taller than I imagined, her dark hair swinging around her face like a silken curtain. We kneel together, our knees touching the cool pavement beneath. "You have to tell me, since this is a dream. Will you be the child I have?" She brushes my hair back with her fingers, unafraid of touching me.

"No." Her hands are soft, igniting faint whispers of memory within me, as comforting as a mother's touch that I had forgotten long ago.

"But…you look just like him." Her dark eyes seem to blur with tears. "The picture he showed me once. Unless…" Disappointment, and it's so strong it's almost painful.

"D-don't be sad. Please don't cry…um, Ukyou-san."

"How do you know my name?"

"I…know him." It's hard. It's so hard, but I force back my own memories of the man, containing it within me like a kernel within a shell, hiding it from her lost eyes.

"Do you? He said…he's working late again. And I'm going to be late too, if I don't get home. It's just the next block. I know I can find it. I'm not lost. Really."

"Ukyou-san…" I don't know how else to address her.

"Let me tell you a secret." She smiles at me earnestly, as though the sorrow is forgotten. I nod, leaning in to listen.

"I can't seem to find my way home. These streets…look familiar but they're not right. It's been like this for a long time. I feel like it should really just be the next street over, but I can't seem to find my way there. Do you think…maybe that I'm a little mad?"

"N-no." It's a relief, hearing something so reasonable come out of her mouth. I was afraid that it would have been like Saki. Endless repetitive pain. "You're not crazy."

"Then…tell me. Hisoka." She brushes the pad of her thumb against my cheek, eyes warming to me as if it reminded her of someone.

I will not think of it. I won't. He's a different person. This is the child in the dark room of dolls that she's looking for. Not…

"Tell me where I can find him."

I can feel my heart pound as she asks me this. She's afraid too, knowing that somehow everything in this world is completely wrong. She's feeling my fear, touching my memories. Her dark brown eyes - a dark so dark it is almost black - catch mine, seeking answers. I offer my hand to her. "He's here. But you just have to wake up…"

"Oh. Is that it?" It seemed so simple. "Have I been asleep for so long?"

I glance up. It begins to snow, a light dusting of white that begins to fill the world with silence. I stare into it, concentrating on getting us out.

For a minute, I'm lost again. But this time, when I find myself, I'm sitting with her, back in the little house. There's a hint of perfume in the air. I hadn't noticed it before, it was so faint.

"Hello, Ukyou."

"Hello. Hisoka." Her parched lips move into a smile. It's so genuine that I can't help but love her too, in a way.

**Terazuma**

It's after midnight by the time Muraki leaves. Or is forced to, really; everyone else left hours ago. No one wanted to drag him away, but in the end Terazuma drew the short straw. After all…he is still technically in charge.

Muraki's eyes are blank. The moon is hidden, and the city lights cast an orange glow onto the cover of clouds.

"Sorry." Terazuma scuffs his feet on the sidewalk, kicking the butt-end of a cigarette dead. "I gotta take you home. Er…well, Meifu."

"Yes." Muraki's voice is strained. Terazuma makes a face. Did it always have to be so hard?

"You know..." Terazuma takes out his cigarettes, and offers Muraki one. They light up, the musky smell of tobacco replaced with an acrid burn. "You're a lucky guy." He glanced at the house. Terazuma had only caught the barest glimpse of the girl, sitting like a mannequin with her nurse. A human doll. It had given him the shivers.

"Perhaps." Muraki takes a deep drag. "It seems…that Kurosaki-kun will have to come often. The damage is too deep to heal in an evening. I may have to have her moved. Oriya's offered to let her live in his old family home in Kyoto."

"Yeah. But you know it's not up to you anymore." Terazuma gestures with his cigarette, leaving a faint trail of light and as he does so. "I mean, it kinda is since we're being lenient, but you know…we're not really supposed to be around to influence stuff once we're dead."

"Mmm." Muraki looks away. The only thing separating him from the night is faint gleam of light along the edge of his black coat and the silver of his hair. "I suppose you're right."

"Hey. Don't…" And Terazuma is about to say that he shouldn't be so sad. That it would get better, that in time. That it would definitely be all right.

But it's hollow, and they both know it.

Terazuma sighs. "It ain't easy." He drops the half-smoked cigarette and crushes it underfoot. "And I can't promise that it'll get better. But you know…if you want, you can stay with me 'n Kannuki tonight. For old time sakes."

"Thank you." It's so soft that it's barely audible.

A cold drip of water slides down Terazuma's face. It's raining again. He nods to Muraki as water patters down around them, staining the sidewalk with dark blotches.

Like shadows, they disappear a moment later without a trace, except for the lingering print of Terazuma's shadow, which fades in the falling rain.

**Hisoka**

"Hey. It's past midnight." A warm pair of arms wraps around my shoulders. "Aren't you tired?"

"Idiot…I slept all day." But I can't help smiling as Tsuzuki nuzzles against me, cradling me close. It's cold in here, cold enough that I haven't taken my coat off yet. The rain drips from the eaves, melting the distance away as it patters along the leaves of the trees outside of Tsuzuki's apartment.

"Mmm." There's a smile in his voice. "I was really happy when she woke up."

"Yeah. Me too." My fingers tangle with his. "I'm going back in a day or two. I promised."

"Thank you, Hisoka." His voice is soft, a breath against my hair. My eyelids flutter shut as I lean back against him.

"Thank you." I say that for a completely different reason. I turn and embrace him.

He's warm.

**Muraki**

If I could pray for you, I would. But I no longer know the words. I just know that this is the best chance you have at living again. Just like this is my best chance for living too.

The irony nearly makes me laugh.

If I could live with you now and turn back the clock. Say, just a few weeks. Enough time to reconsider finding the boy, enough time to prevent my own murder. If I had known…that you were still in there, somewhere…

I would never have done this had I known.

I lost my faith in you, and nearly lost both of us in the process.

What was it like to touch you alive for the first time in years? Not merely a doll to treasure in a wood and glass box of a house, but to touch you? I had dreamed about it for years and years; woken up cold in the middle of the night wanting my arms around you, daydreamed that you'd come to me when I needed you the most until I stopped dreaming completely.

After that, came nightmares.

Reality could not match up to those lost dreams. But it was more meaningful in its own way. As before, you never pulled away, even though I could see that you knew everything that I had done with just a glance. Everything was written in the blood that stains my soul. You saw through it all in an instant. But you still loved me.

And my feelings haven't changed. They never will.

Please forgive me, Ukyou. And please…be well.

I'll watch over you from the land of the dead.

I promise.

* * *

**Notes**: Oriya's family home does not refer to Kokakurou: (Chapter 6) "I didn't always live there – I grew up in a house not too far away. It was just the place where work was done, but then they died and our house became too big and empty for me to live in by myself."

My apologies for anyone who's been waiting for this epilogue. I've been working on this chapter on and off (mostly off) for the last two years. Unfortunately, most of that time was non-conducive to writing, but hopefully that will change.

Thanks to everyone for being so patient about waiting for this epilogue. Thanks also to Danceswithelvis, who inspired 'Payback' back in 2003. A very special thanks to all my beta readers: RubyD, Dwee, Cyrus, A-chan, Kizu, Rinoa, and anyone else I might have forgotten to list. There have been a lot of people that have been important to the writing of this story, and I know I can't name them all. But I'm especially grateful to the people who have stayed with me so long to read this. Thank you guys. I really appreciate it. I never thought that a one-shot written one morning in 2003 would turn into such an adventure.

**To answer some things that weren't answered in the stor**y:

Originally, the foundation for the Meifu side of the story was that somehow between Muraki and Tsuzuki (two half-breeds of supernatural beings) and Saki's genetic meddling, Enma would find a way out into the human world. Thus, the "gate" symbol on the clothing. In Chinese mythology (as I recall, since it's been a while), the Gate of the Western Heaven was the entrance into paradise. In the First Death, this was a symbolic 'mark' that Enma had placed on both Tsuzuki and Muraki, to signify that he would use them as a means to escape from his tenure in Meifu.

In the original concept, Enma was a being that was trapped forever outside of the cycle of life and death. He was basically an eternal bureaucrat who had gotten sick of his existence and wanted to become human. He escapes and selfishly takes his powers with him, which causes universal chaos. To set the world right again, various Shinigami would have to 'team up' in different combinations to solve the mystery and bring him back

However, about half-way through The First Death, I ended up not being able to spend the time it took to do that story arc. So instead, what you see is a hodgepodge remix that was made to shorten and simplify the original story. But it can technically be continued to include that storyline, as Watari notes in this chapter.

There are a few more snippets I have for The First Death on my computer. I'll see about posting them sometime. Most of them don't really lead anywhere, but someone out there might be interested.

Take care, and have a wonderful new year.

EAG 1/27/2006

* * *

**Sakaki Sidestory**

Sakaki is having a very bad day.

Well, it's a series of very bad days. Of very bad weeks. First he gets kidnapped, and then he spends a few weeks in a cold laboratory half-freezing while his employer's seemingly sensible but ultimately mad older half-brother regales him with long-winded monologues that make Sensei at his worst seem preferable in contrast.

Then, he's coerced (no, blackmailed is the better word, or maybe just threatened) into working for the man so that he won't be used in some awful medical experiments. He saw what the diseases did to lab rats; he wasn't about to test Saki's bluff.

In retrospect, it's been a bad year. Ever since Muraki walked off, locking up the house behind him, Sakaki's been fairly miserable. His new job stressed him out (one demanding employer was enough; when it came to over a dozen, the demands made his head spin), he wasn't sleeping well, and by the time Saki kidnapped him, it almost came as a relief to be forcibly dragged out of his current life.

But, of course, the life of freedom was far preferably to poking around in socks back and forth in the same hallway.

Though now, it's gotten much worse. Much, much, much worse.

"Can you tell me if you had any previous grudges against your former employer? Did he do anything to you or to someone in your family that you might want him dead for?"

"No, of course not." Sakaki stares at the cold mug of tea in his hands; he's exhausted and they won't stop talking at him. If this is friendly questioning, he's afraid of the unfriendly type. Bad enough that when he came back, it turned out that Saki had cancelled his apartment lease and put his belongings into storage. Worse, that he was fired for not showing up to work for two and a half weeks and not having anything to say to explain it.

"Forensics couldn't link you to the bullet but we know you are licensed to own and use firearms." The police investigator goes through his notes. "Have you ever thought of shooting Muraki Kazutaka?"

"No, of course not!" Sakaki's getting agitated.

"Then please explain to us why on Sunday the 24th of September, the very day that he was murdered, you conveniently went missing, moved out of your apartment, and stayed missing for almost three weeks, showing up only now when your neighbors called us to let us know that you were sneaking around the complex."

"I…" And Sakaki's thought about it; there's no way to explain this properly. What would he say? 'So you see inspector, the reason I was missing because Sensei's dead brother from America decided to kidnap me to make me tell him the secret of immortality, but I managed to get out by accidentally turning him into a genetic monster, and spent a night in the afterworld with Sensei, who's now dead, and his best friend. Oh, speaking of which, Sensei's best friend is running a secret brothel in Kyoto where he let me stay the night.' Jail would be far, far preferable to the mental asylum. At least, he might be able to get out early on good behavior.

"According to your written statement, you had access to his financial information. Was it for the money?"

"Please, I'm very tired because I've been traveling." Sakaki says this slowly because he knows they're trying to wear him down to make him tell them everything. "I did not kill Sensei, nor did I try to steal his money."

"Then how do you explain this?" The detective slides a few sheets of papers forward. "These are records of someone trying to access Muraki Kazutaka's accounts from the Tokyo Main Station two days before we brought you in for questioning."

"I don't know. Maybe someone put in the wrong numbers." Waaah, Sensei. Sakaki twitches, wanting out of this. "I won't continue without a lawyer." It's a bluff – he can't afford one, not without a job, and not when he has to repay the apartment owners for breaking the lease too early, and not when he needs to make a sizeable deposit for a new apartment if he doesn't want to live in a tent in the park.

Outside the glass windows of the conference room, he can see some sort of flurry of commotion, and he sighs, wondering how long he'll be kept here.

"Excuse me, sir." A police officer interrupts them, this one a young lady who knocks on the door. "The chief wants you to stop the questioning, and let this man go."

"What? We're making progress!" The investigator stands up. "You can't just stop this process!"

"Apparently…" The girl blushes, handing the investigator what appears to be plane ticket stubs. "Um, according to the witness in Germany, Sakaki-san met a woman on the internet and uh, wanted to elope with her. These are his ticket stubs for the flight. There are some hotel receipts too, but I'll have to get them. So it was just a coincidence when his former employer died on the same day he flew out after work, and…er…" She turns bright pink. "And…uh…so this lady turned out to be a man."

"No wonder he's not talking." The investigator's cheeks are pink as well. "And no wonder he's back in Japan. How disgusting!"

Sakaki turns red. He wants to crawl into a hole and die from embarrassment, but it's better than going to jail where that could actually happen.

The detective looks over the tickets with a calculated eye. "These are genuine. You're free to go."

Sakaki sighs, slumping back in the chair. As he walks out of the interrogation room, he can hear titters and laughter, and he draws himself up straight, reminding himself that a little embarrassment was far better than going to prison.

The girl stops him. "Um, sir? The chief wants to apologize to you himself. His office is down the hall, that way." She points.

"Th-thank you," Sakaki nods, very politely.

"So was he hot? Was he a cross dresser, like in that movie?" She turns beet red.

"I…I'd rather not talk about it," Sakaki replies, blushing, hoping that it's a safe enough answer.

"Eee! Secret romance!" And she skitters off to converse with her friends.

Sakaki nearly dies of mortification right there, but he manages to get to the Chief's office in one piece.

"Please excuse me." Sakaki enters the office with a little bow, seeing that someone's already sitting in there with the Chief, in a sharp dark suit with long hair pulled back behind his head. A sudden bolt of fear goes through him; he's been sold to the Yakuza – his freedom in exchange for lifetime service to the mob. Sakaki stares at the stranger whose back is to him, wondering if he's a mob boss or merely an underling.

"No, no. Come in, sit down." The police chief's an elderly gentleman, and has a look to him that Sakaki thinks is somehow vaguely familiar.

Sakaki sits, and chances a glance at the dark stranger.

"O-Oriya-san?"

Oriya smiles, his hands folded neatly before him. "It's been a long time, Sakaki. How was Berlin?"

"C-cold. And…uh…German…" Sakaki fumbles, managing the words as he realizes who could have conjured up such an explanation.

"So I trust the police didn't give you a hard time?" Oriya's eyes gleam with amusement, as if daring Sakaki to ask him for an explanation.

"No, not at all. The staff is very professional here." Sakaki manages smoothly.

"Good, good." The chief sounds pleased. "I apologize for the trouble, Sakaki-san. You know how it is, these hot-headed detectives…"

"Sure," Sakaki replies dazed. "It's no problem."

"So…did this German fellow…really look like a woman?" The chief leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, looking very interested.

"Ah…um, well, I shouldn't say…" Sakaki turns bright red. He can hear Oriya stifle a chuckle.

"But you can at least tell me…was he hot?"

Sakaki's face feels like it's on fire. "Y-yes, actually."

* * *

**Payback**

"You!"

"You!"

I can feel the heel of my hand meet my forehead in a slap. Terazuma and Tsuzuki. Don't those idiots ever stop?

"Now, now Hajime-chan, let's go get some tea…" Wakaba smiles at me apologetically.

"Yeah, idiot. Let's go somewhere else." I give Tsuzuki a sharp jab with my elbow. "There's some cake in the staff lounge, you'd better hurry if you want a piece..." I say it as if bored with the whole affair. It's a bald-faced lie, but I gotta do what I gotta do. After all, I like my office in one piece.

"Actually Kannuki, my business is with him." Terazuma gestures with his thumb, pointing my way. "I got a score to settle with him."

"How mean!" Wakaba stamps her foot. "Honestly Hajime, what has Hisoka ever done to you?"

Terazuma grins rakishly. "Good question. Better figure it out." He's exuding self-satisfaction. I really wonder what the hell is going on.

He begins walking toward me, almost threateningly, though I can tell his intent isn't dangerous. Immediately, Tsuzuki jumps between us.

"Don't touch him." His voice edges on possessiveness.

I cuff Tsuzuki lightly. "I can handle myself." And then in a softer tone, "He's not going to hurt me, Tsuzuki. I know."

"All right." Peeved, Tsuzuki steps back. "Just don't come crying to me when he does something weir-H-HEY! G-GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY PARTNER!"

Terazuma does something with his feet, I don't even know what, only that something nudges the back of my knees and suddenly I'm horizontal, and his lips are all over mine. All over.

Holy crap. I think…yep, that's tongue all right.

"There." He grins, sounding extremely pleased with himself. In the background Wakaba's squealing like a schoolgirl. Uh, which she is.

"W-what was that for?" I'm squeaky too. Wow, my voice doesn't work anymore. Neither do my knees, apparently. Shakily, I manage to stay upright as I wipe my lips with the back of my hand. My cheeks are burning hot.

"I owed you one, kid." Terazuma grins. "You remember New Year's 1998?"

I nearly fall over. "W-what's that got to do with anything?" Sputtering and indignant, I don't know who's more mad, me or Tsuzuki.

We all stare at each other a moment. Wakaba's mad because she wanted Terazuma to give her prior notice so she could take a picture, Tsuzuki's mad because well, Terazuma was all over me. And Terazuma just gives me a wink as he's beset upon by them both.

And then I just laugh and laugh and laugh.


End file.
